


A Stubbornly Persistent Illusion

by kayakaari



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Administration - Manna Francis
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayakaari/pseuds/kayakaari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rare time turner thrusts Severus Snape into the future (and Val Toreth's life) before he has a chance to tell Harry Potter the truth about the last horcrux. Without the images of Snape's cruel death to soften his heart and Snape's memories to help him to see reason, Potter's stubborn refusal to listen to reason in 1998 leads to a bleak future - magic has been eradicated and Muggle Technology reigns supreme. Can Snape go back in time and save magic from such a dire fate?</p><p> </p><p>People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.<br/>-- Albert Einstein</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this 3 years ago and the general outline is drafted. But my muse has been scarce lately and I make no promises that this will be completed within a reasonable time frame. For now, it is eventually going to be a Snape/Harry pairing...but it might just not have a pairing at all...Snape can be so cantankerous sometimes ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I completely forgot to include the prologue of the story! *facepalm* Hopefully I can edit it to insert this chapter somehow...

**Prologue**

**Only by acceptance of the past, can you alter it.  
**  
\-- T. S. Eliot

Draco Malfoy took another swig of firewhiskey as he watched Scorpius Severus floo to comfort his best friend and fellow Slytherin, Albus Severus Potter.

For the millionth time he wondered at his insanity in naming his child after Snape. As if his guilt wasn't bad enough on its own, he named his son after the man he'd selfishly allowed to die. And for what? A time turner. A time turner he'd never even used.

Throwing the nearly empty bottle into the fireplace he watched the swell of the flames as they licked against the paper label, the bright red/orange bird curled and turned to ashes. Phoenix brand firewhiskey- only nothing ever rose from the ashes, not for Draco anyway. Flames and fire consumed his every thought for the better part of half a century and no amount of philanthropy, or debauchery, seemed to quench those flames.

Draco reached into his robes and withdrew the time turner with its long golden braided chain. Decades ago at the first Battle of Hogwarts, he stole the chain from the mystery store room which Crabbe had idiotically obliterated with Fiendfyre. When Snape stayed behind to try to save his colleague, Potter, that irritating hero brat, had tried to throw the chain to Snape as a lifeline.

But two of Draco's natural instincts were to possessively hoard things and to fight Potter and so he had, for a heartbeat, refused to let go when Potter tried to throw the golden rope to Snape.

He had hesitated, no matter how briefly, and for that he watched Snape burn before his eyes. Crabbe had died inside the room but Snape's death he'd actually witnessed. That nightmarish vision never left and now it seemed certain it never would. Some Muggle researcher had recently discovered that Snape was a hero fighting for the Light and had had the key to saving them. But thanks to Draco's selfishness, Snape had died before he could get reason with that prat, Potter, and now the Wizarding World had decided to sacrifice its Saviour in order to kill Voldemort, this time for good.

That meant that every innocent death since that day in 1998 was at least in part Draco’s fault. Snape's death had been enough of a burden; he couldn't cope with more, not when he thought of his own lost loved ones.

Fingering the cursed chain, Draco decided to end it all. He wrapped the length around his slender neck and pulled it tight. In his drunken struggle he released the locking mechanism and the small hourglass turned. Suddenly he was standing above himself watching as he tried to wrap the chain around his neck. Draco watched in fascination as his past self accidentally unclasped the mechanism before disappearing. Now there was only one of him staring at the now empty chair.

"Merlin’s bollocks!"

Draco collapsed heavily in the chair and with the extreme caution of the drunk, carefully locked the hourglass back in place. Suddenly he knew what to do. He had known for years but he used sheer cowardice and stubborn selfishness to convince himself that it wasn’t necessary, that what had happened was meant to be. Now, however, he felt an overwhelmingly urgent need to go back to that day. He needed to stop his past self from resisting Potter. Struggling against his natural tendency for self preservation – what if he got stuck in the past? - and yet seeking to save himself from the misery of the past decades and the promise of worse to come, Draco submitted to the compulsion to use the Time Turner. He didn’t want to relive that day but he needed to save Snape and ease the burdens of guilt from his life.

"Broom… I'll need a broom!"

~~~~

The elderly Draco hovered unsteadily on his grandson's fancy broom. War research and the integration of Muggle technology had made brooms so advanced and complicated! Though he had to concede that perhaps being drunk and decades out of practice didn't help matters much.

Looking up towards to the seventh floor, he was thankful that there were no flames in sight as yet. It seemed he had timed it right and was early enough to save them- or was he too late? And what was he planning to do exactly anyway?

As he rose towards the fifth floor level, sudden shouts attracted his attention. He heard his younger self screaming Crabbe's name. He hadn't realized how scared and genuinely upset he'd been back then. He neared the sixth floor in time to hear Weasley scold Potter for trying to be a hero. He was only a few feet away from them now and could see Snape about to escape then change his mind upon seeing Potter turn back.

The dawning realization that Snape could and would have escaped, that the Potions Master died trying to save Crabbe but rather because he tried to stop Potter and Draco from turning back, was almost too much for Draco.

He saw Potter spot and pull at the chain. The time had come for him to do something and he had to do it soon. Older Draco sent a destabilizing spell at his younger self as the teen reached to fight Potter for the chain. He didn't want to kill his younger self but he knew now that he would rather have died back then than live the miserable decades that marked his life.

Fortunately, the younger him managed to regain his balance by gripping Potter and the broom. The older Draco turned to Snape. He needed to watch this. He needed a new memory to replace that old recurrent nightmare. He needed to know that this journey to the past had been worth the risk.

'No! No!' Draco watched, once again in horrified fascination, only this time Snape disappeared when the time turner chain landed over his neck. If Snape had it now, he wondered, did his future self have it still? Was it as he always feared, was he stuck in the past? What was to happen to his future self? Not that anyone would notice he was missing. Scorpius barely tolerated him and Narcissa had long gone mad when Lucius was killed by Voldemort's during one of his reincarnations. Astoria would have cared, he imagined, but she had died at Voldemort's hand too.

Lost in his melancholy thoughts, Draco barely acknowledged the red spell light headed towards him. As the spell knocked him from his high perch, he mused at the sight of the young Death Eater who had cursed him. Did he know that boy? That… child? Voldemort had ruined the childhoods of so many.

As his descent accelerated, he wondered idly whether history had changed for the better now that Snape at least hadn't died. Maybe Draco dying now didn't matter because his future self was not haunted by guilt and would not have returned to the past. But then, should he be here still if his future, or was it his future past self, doesn't or didn't or wouldn't have had the Time Turner or desperate need to change the past?

Time travel is so complicated, Draco thought.

And then he thought no more.

~~~~


	2. Part 1.1

****

**People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.  
\-- Albert Einstein **

Part I

Snape covertly flew back on to the Hogwarts grounds from which he had fled a short while before. He spied Draco’s blond head disappearing into a room on the seventh floor which he was quite certain had never been there before. The younger Crabbe and Goyle were with the blond, a minor fact which did little to console the former Slytherin Head of House. They had the muscle to protect Draco but far too little brains to evade even his weakest attempts at manipulation. First Potter and now the young Malfoy, how did he always seem to end up protecting the idiot children of his friends?

Quickly stunning then confounding an approaching Auror, he followed his young snakes into the mysterious room. It was filled with towering piles of just about everything and anything Snape could think of. It appeared to be a store room of some sort, perhaps where banished things went. Who knew Hogwarts’ mysteries?

A sudden crash jerked him out of his distracted exploration and a petulant whine from a flash of red hair warned him that the Golden Trio was also here. Following the moving voices and avoiding flashes of light as stray spells created further chaos in the room, he rounded the corner just in time to see Crabbe spell Fiendfyre. That fool! They all rushed to leave, the Golden Trio’s brooms lifting them to safety as they hurried from the room.

To his surprise though not shock – typical bloody predictable Gryffindor heroics – the Trio returned to help the Slytherins. Draco hastily joined Potter on his broom while looking back at Crabbe who for a moment seemed to have been petrified.

“Crabbe!” the young Malfoy cried in terror, his voice managing to carry over the shouts from Granger and Weasley (who shared his broom with Goyle) urging Potter to leave the room.

To his horror, Snape watched as Potter seemed to be turning back to save the finally moving Crabbe. Though he desperately wanted to leave the area, Snape stopped, shouting, “Potter, go!”

Potter, that stubborn prat, glared at him in defiance and continued turning towards the room, leaning from his broom and trying to reach Crabbe.

“GO!” Snape shouted, transfiguring the piles nearest to the door into great dunes of sand in what he knew to be a futile attempt to contain the rapidly approaching fire. Turning towards Crabbe he snarled, “I’ll get him, Potter, just go!”

It all happened so quickly and yet time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Snape watched as Potter snatched a chain from young Malfoy’s robes then turned just in time to see the flames swallow his former student. 

“Snape, help him!” Potter shouted, throwing a braided gold chain towards Snape as though it was a lifeline. “Throw it to him and then the two of you hang on!”

Draco’s hand twitched, clumsily knocking the other end of the chain from Potter’s hand. Snape did not have time to determine whether the act was deliberate or truly accidentally, for in that same instant he somehow noticed the rapidly spinning pendant on the chain. Beady black eyes barely managed to open in horror before the out of control time turner fell over his head.

~~~

"Potter, you pillock!" Snape snarled, his enraged glare no less fearsome in spite of the grey-green tint his sallow skin had taken on after the unexpected voyage. 

His spy instincts kicked in and he paused to observe his surroundings. He suspected he was in Muggle London and yet this area was different from anywhere he'd ever been before. He seemed to have landed in the courtyard of a grand white complex of glass, sparkling steel and pale grey stone. What little of his environs he could see was intimidating and awe-inspiring, if somewhat ugly and cold. He moved to hide behind one of the giant potted plants that sat somewhat absurdly in the midst of this concrete jungle. ‘Muggles!’

A sudden movement in a window several floors above alerted him that he was being observed. Looking up he spotted a blond man staring at him, mug in hand. Shit. He only hoped the Muggle hadn’t recorded it. He’d read about the difficulty the Ministry was having with CCTV technology which seemed to be popping up all over Muggle London lately, recording proof of Apparating wizards and witches. It made clean up much harder than using a few Obliviation spells and relying on the Muggles’ infinite capacity for self-denial, even when they’d witnessed the unknown themselves.

This was all Potter’s fault, as it so often was. And now Snape was here. Wherever and whenever the hell 'here' was. At least the startled look in the witness’ face was a good sign that the Muggle would most likely doubt his own eyes. 

“Don’t move!” Snape quickly and carefully hid his wand up his sleeve and watched as half a dozen men uniformed in black military style Muggle clothing circled him. He was quite surprised that he hadn’t heard them approaching considering that their boots were now loudly echoing in the quiet yard. “Who are you, civilian? Present your ID, now!”

Snape sneered. “My name is Severus Snape and I do not have an ‘ID’,” the stress of the final word giving little doubt that he neither knew nor cared about what an ID was. The men glanced quickly at each other and Snape looked around the courtyard, trying to judge whether there were more witnesses around. Six Muggles were no challenge for him. He could stun and Obliviate them before they’d even realized he’d moved but he needed to know that no one else would see. He wasn’t really bothered about the blond in the window. That Muggle had already given his beverage a few suspicious glares before disappearing.

“Bring him inside,” a seventh man called from a doorway. “This way, and quickly!”

“Yes, sir,” the first speaker nodded. Pointing his weapon at Snape he hissed, “You heard him. Go on!”

~~~

Senior Para-Investigator Val Toreth stared in disbelief at what he seemed to have just witnessed. He was not prone to hallucinations but he was quite certain he'd just seen a man in a long black dress suddenly materialize in the courtyard. Sara, his admin, had been trying to manipulate him into calling Warrick after their last fight. She wouldn’t have drugged his coffee, would she? No, he decided, she wouldn’t dare. 

He watched as the man wildly looked around in amazement until he froze at Toreth’s gaze. The strange man had been trying to hide behind one of the stupid potted plants that had been installed ahead of some foolish publicity campaign that the heads at Int-Sec seemed to think would 'improve the image of Investigation and Interrogation (I&I) Division'. He hated this crap- his job was to saving the fucking public, not befriend them!

Further movement from the hiding place refocused Toreth’s attention to the issue at hand and he wondered what the best course of action should be. He could capture and confront the man himself or he could wait until security caught him. Bevan and his team would most likely have seen the intruder by now. Ever since the whole resister uprising/ attempted coup a year before, security was even more wary of people being out of place. The strange man would most likely end up at Justice- trespassing was hardly a matter for I&I. Still, he would really like to find out how the man had suddenly appeared out of nowhere like that.

Fortunately, before curiosity could get the better of him, an Int-Sec security team surrounded and took the man away. He’d have to ask Daedra for the antidote to curiosity. There was bound to be a drug for that.

~~~

Severus Snape stood in a grey cell contemplating the many ways he could and would kill Harry Potter when he saw the brat again. The twentieth person in as many minutes opened his door a crack and stared at him as though he was the star freak at a freak show. He didn’t have any idea what was going on but he couldn’t pretend to be in any hurry to rush back to the horrors at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Snape knew he had a very important role to play in the war and he couldn’t waste too much time here. 

He could probably blast the door open the next time one of them came to stare but it would be foolish to show his one advantage now. They’d left him with his wand first because they thought it funny to leave him with his ‘little stick’ and then because he’d cast a Notice-Me-Not spell on all his possessions- potions, wand and time turner alike and so they couldn’t find them. 

He fingered the time turner absentmindedly. Apparently he had travelled centuries or possibly millennia into the future. He did not want to believe it but he'd known they weren't lying. He had never heard of a time turner that took people into the future far less a future this distant. For as much as the Ministry closely guarded the location of regular time travel devices, either they closely guarded the mere existence of the future travelling ones or this was the only of its kind. It figures that a Malfoy would find himself in possession of such a rare object. No wonder the boy had…no, he could not be sure that Draco had meant to dislodge the chain from Potter’s hand. Snape sneered as his thoughts were once again interrupted by yet another peeping Muggle.

Stupid Muggles. They had brought him through endless winding white corridors several floors below ground. The journey reminded him uncomfortably of travelling through the Ministry to the Wizengamot’s subterranean chambers. He could probably escape by transfiguring his robes to match their uniforms and try to find the way out but the risk seemed too great.

He sighed irritably as another Muggle came to stare silently. For as much as their little interrogation had annoyed him, he’d much rather be there than in this room with grey floors and grey ceilings that complemented the grey walls. He wondered what about his blood seemed to have confused them. Though the physiology of wizards and witches was slightly different, he’d been to Muggle doctors as a child and they’d never mentioned any anomalies. Of course that could be because the doctors had looked down on the poor, unattractive child from Spinner’s End and, he always suspected, hadn’t done any real health assessments. They hadn’t thought him worth their time and effort. They hadn’t even wanted to touch him.

He couldn’t contain the brief chuckle that escaped at the memory of the horrified looks on his captives faces as ‘Para Chevril’ as the others called the man, tried to torture him into submission with a metal probe that valiantly tried to mimic the Cruciatus. Snape had to admit, if only to himself, that after almost five hours, the pain had come close. Still, he had developed an unusually high tolerance level to neurological pain after years of working with the Dark Lord. He had not punished Snape as often as some of the others but Albus and Severus had felt it in his best interest to practice controlling his responses. It strained his Occlumency significantly but he had succeeded in not succumbing to the pain in front of the Muggle.

After his father, he had vowed he would never beg a Muggle for mercy. Never again.

~~~

Toreth looked around the room at his terrified peers. And they were clearly terrified. Bevan, the Head of Security, hid his fear behind a fearsome scowl. His colleague, fellow Para-Investigator Chevril’s neutral expression was spoiled by his greenish complexion, and their boss, Tillotson’s thinned lips looked in danger of disappearing altogether. He heard what they’d said but clearly the hallucination drug all the coffee drinkers at I&I, not just him. Strange that Sara seemed so unaffected.

“So, this stranger, who calls himself Severus Snape, just appeared out of thin air and is impervious to the interrogation drugs and tools?” he asked his boss, not bothering to hide his dubious expression.

Tillotson frowned. “Show him the security footage,” he nodded at Bevan.

Even though he’d seen it for himself, with his own eyes, live and in person, the images of the stranger materialising in the courtyard was just as astonishing the second time around and Toreth didn’t have to fake the surprised look on his face.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” he asked, swallowing uncomfortably. Ever since he’d been forced to save the Investigation and Interrogation Division of the Department of Internal Security (Int-Sec), they seemed to look to him to look to him to do the impossible, or at any rate, the uncomfortable. “He probably belongs in Citizen-Surveillance, did you check with them?”

“Cit-Surv-?” The tension and increased anxiety in the room was palpable. “We used the new P&P right up to upper-level four and when that failed with him, we used…” Chev looked around the room for support which was not forthcoming and somehow managed to pale some more. “We had no choice, Toreth. We had to use the old methods,” he pleaded.

About a year ago, some resisters had invaded Int-Sec and thrown the Administration into chaos. The resisters hired a psychotic Socioanalyst by the name of Jean-Baptiste Carnac to help control I&I. Carnac was a man with a mission, a desire for revenge. When he had been assigned to evaluate the division a few years earlier, Toreth had tried to intimidate the annoying prick by showing him a high level interrogation up close and personal. The techniques used amounted to the sort of vicious torture that the division was rumoured to perform and had resulted in I&I cultivating a fearsome and reviled public image. Of course the bulk of what the public imagined went on was purely conjecture because, quite frankly, no one who went through the upper levels of the old Procedures and Protocols (P&P) survived to tell the tale. Carnac, though sufficiently intimidated to back off at the time, had apparently also become unhinged.

Once Toreth found out about Carnac’s plans to portray them as Administration sanctioned torturers and murderers in order to be allowed to legitimately execute them all, the only solution had been to pre-emptively rewrite the P&P to a less…intense method of interrogation. Although the new manual saved their jobs and more importantly their lives, his colleagues had quickly forgotten their gratitude and instead spent a lot of time bitching that the new P&P had made their jobs more difficult. They all knew that I&I division was necessary and it was only a matter of time before they would be allowed to return to high level interrogations. Indeed the powers that be in Int-Sec were already turning a blind eye to the occasional use of the old methods when it suited them. After all, I&I Para-Investigators were Administration sanctioned torturers and murders- it was just political suicide to let that become public knowledge rather than rumour.

If the activities of the I&I were Top Secret, Citizen Surveillance was TOP SECRET. This mysterious department of the Administration- so clandestine that it did not officially exist- was made up of spies who lived among citizens, working at mundane jobs and befriending resisters who they quietly exterminated or betrayed to the Administration. Merely knowing the identity of their staff was a death sentence. Their people were untouchable; torturing a Cit Surveillance spy would not be appreciated. So it was no wonder his calculated casual comment had increased the tension in the room. Chev was right to be terrified and so was Tillotson. The man who authorized the torture would not be spared anymore than the torturer and Toreth knew Chev well enough to know that he would never have done the illegal interrogation on his own initiative.

“Excuse me, sir, priority one on the secure comm.,” Jenny, Tillotson’s admin, announced into the silent room. 

Tillotson disappeared to a backroom for less than five minutes before returning. “You knew,” he accused, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Toreth. It was a familiar if not so recently seen look. During the coup, Tillotson had cowardly stayed away and Carnac had made Toreth division head. Although he’d been only too happy to give back the top seat to Tillotson, the Head had still been cautiously unwilling to agitate Toreth.

“Knew…?”

“He IS Cit Surveillance,” Tillotson hissed, Chevril whimpered and Bevan exhaled harshly, “and they want you to deal with the case… again.”

“Look, I didn’t…don’t know anything. When a mysterious man with no apparent identity and access to high level anti-interrogation suppressant drugs shows up…it was a logical guess.” Toreth was relieved his voice remained slightly bored even though his mind was processing at a thousand terabytes per second. This had to be the work of Leo Warrick or John Sable or whatever the fuck his name really was. The man was Keir Warrick’s (Toreth’s lover) father and, unknown even to Warrick, worked in Cit Surveillance. Toreth and Warrick’s father had been forced to work together once before. He had hoped they would never meet again; he’d barely escaped the association with his life.

“What do they want from me?” he knew Tillotson wouldn’t know the answer and he rather liked rubbing it in his face.

“They’ll contact you directly,” he quoted irritably. “Listen, about earlier, maybe you can try to talk to him, to Snape,” Tillotson couldn’t quite keep the plea from his voice. “You have a way with people. Maybe you could reach him. Explain to him… get him to see it our way…get him to understand, we didn’t realize... ”

Flattery. It shouldn’t work but Toreth knew that once they’d told him everything, they’d brought him into this mess with them. Even if he had refused to become further involved, Cit Surveillance wouldn’t have spare his life anyway. He might as well take what he could get.

“Fine, but if I do this, I do it my way.” Tillotson swallowed a protest and nodded. Toreth smiled. It had been a while since he was given official Carte Blanche on his expenses and he intended to have some Administration-funded fun. The stranger was certainly not his type; he had too much nose and appeared to be much too thin. But this Snape fellow was able to resist the drugs and neural induction probes which was unheard of. Not to mention that he materialized out of thin air in the midst of one of the most secure areas in the Int-Sec complex. Severus Snape was as different as they come and Toreth was in the mood for a challenge.

~~~


	3. Part 1.2

**Nothing changes more constantly than the past; for the past that influences our lives does not consist of what actually happened, but of what men believe happened.  
\-- Gerald W. Johnson**

~~~

“Severus Snape is an important historical character,” John Sable’s generally humourless personality eliminated any possibility that he was joking. “He is here from the year 1998.” He paused long enough to clap a choking Toreth smartly on the back. “We need to keep him here.”

“At I&I?”

“In this time.”

“How did he get here and what’s to stop him going back? Why would we even want to keep him around?”

“You do not need to know how he got here or why we want him to stick around but it is your duty to keep him here…by any means necessary. I have compiled a brief background on him. We have no reason to believe that he is gay as his only known romantic interest was a woman. Red hair, green eyes, there’s more information about her in the file,” as he handed Toreth a hand screen. “Read it and memorize it.”

In other words the digital memory would self-erase soon.

Sable sipped on his drink and looked around the large, hectic, impersonal food court while Toreth read. Not even he was completely informed about why The Council wanted to keep Snape around but he suspected it had something to do with the changes in the central history records.

For centuries students had been taught one history of The Administration: that back in the late 1990s a war in the secret society of British wizards and witches escalated to the point where it spilled into the non-magical or ‘Muggle’ world. Their prophesised hero, one Harry Potter, was supposed to have been destined to kill a despot calling himself Lord Voldemort. Potter had to destroy some magically imbibed objects called horcruxes before he could kill the so-called ‘Dark Lord’ but seemed unable to ever destroy them all. Six were identified and six were destroyed and still the Dark Lord would not die.

Decade after decade he returned, each time more psychotic than the reincarnation before and each time Potter tried unsuccessfully to get rid of him. For a while, the magical folk protected their Chosen One at the sacrifice of many of their lives but then they turned on him; clearly the prophecy was incorrect. By the late 2030s, millions of the magical and non-magical around the globe had died under Voldemort’s tyranny. Muggle governments and their armies had also tried and failed to destroy him.

By 2041 the separation between the magical and non-magical worlds had completely disappeared and a young ‘Muggle born’ history student discovered the secret to success in a discarded charmed parchment. Severus Snape, an alchemist the wizards called a ‘Potions Master’, was believed to have been a loyal follower of the Voldemort, the so-called Dark Lord. He was also professor of Potions at the magical school called Hogwarts Academy sent to spy on the Order of the Phoenix, a secret organization of the ‘good guys’ led by an enigmatic character called Albus Dumbledore, the school’s headmaster. Snape was killed in 1998 in some sort of magical fire and his death had gone largely un-mourned. He was a less than amiable character and Potter had led the vilification of his hated former professor because Snape had murdered Dumbledore a year before.

However, in war, things are never simple and straightforward and Snape was one of the most complex characters of the era. He was, in fact, faithful to the Order, and the apparent murder of Dumbledore was part of an elaborate plan designed by the supposed victim himself; a plan whose details he had entrusted primarily to Snape. Potter himself was a horcrux and the key to killing Voldemort wasn’t in the boy being the only one who could kill him as the people believed. Rather, the Chosen One’s death was the necessary precursor to the Dark Lord’s death. As long as Potter lived, Voldemort would never truly die.

Evidently, neither Snape nor Dumbledore had been confident in the spy’s likelihood of surviving the war and each independently of the other had left instructions on charmed parchments for Potter. Unfortunately the boy’s hatred was such that he discarded Snape’s missive unread and dismissed Dumbledore’s request that he believe Snape as the misguided words of a man betrayed by someone he believed to be a friend. By the time the Muggle-born university student discovered Snape’s parchment in 2041, the world was desperate enough to heed the alleged traitor’s words.

Half a century and two generations later, the Wizarding and Muggle governments conspired to offer Potter as a sacrifice. They arrested, tortured and broke him down until he agreed to use something called a Killing Curse on the Dark Lord. Sable had never understood how anyone expected the kid to be a hero if he had always refused to kill – no wonder the so-called Dark Lord had never truly been destroyed. At any rate, Potter was killed by his nemesis and his first and only killing curse sent almost simultaneously had in turn eviscerated the Dark Lord for good. After decades of darkness and terror, the two main characters had died in less than the blink of an eye.

After the war, the non-magical community decided to obliterate magic. They did not trust these magical folk not to use Horcruxes again. Desperate and war-torn nations of the world united in their fight against magic, gradually evolving into regional and then global governments that would eventually become The Administration. For centuries The Administration took care of its citizens and everyone knew this history.

Until that morning when Snape materialized in the Int-Sec grounds and the records changed. 

The bulk of the history did not change – the war had still dragged on because Potter hated Snape but now the records showed that Snape had not died but rather was transported to a time unknown by a rogue magical object called a Time Turner. The courtyard and Snape’s person had been searched but the ‘Time Turner’ had not been located. Sable did not need to be told that The Administration was concerned about the changed history books. As it was, even Sable and his colleagues were beginning to forget that things had ever been different, after all whatever changes happen in the past become the future’s past. The rest of the world knew of no other past, the historical documents showed no other past. Only the longest serving staff at Cit Surveillance knew that there had been a change and recalled anything of the previous history. But whatever The Administration had done to them over the years, their resistance to change was slowly being worn down. Soon they would recall nothing of this other past. The only reason his leaders felt the need to do anything was because the records now told of the Cult of Snape.

The history records were now showing that over the centuries, these resister groups had tried summoning Snape, practically worshipping the man as their hero. They believed that if he returned to the war, he would have somehow been able to organize Potter’s death earlier, save the world from Voldemort’s atrocities, keep the Muggles from discovering magic and therefore eliminate the need for formation of The Administration.

“He sounds…complex,” Toreth interrupted Sable’s thoughts. “What exactly do you expect me to do to keep him here? If magic,” he muttered, rotating his wrists and barely refraining from rolling his eyes, “if it exists, no amount of arresting him or locking him away will keep him here.”

“No, it won’t. But Citizen Surveillance has created an identity for him,” he handed a folder to Toreth. “You need to convince him that life in our time is so attractive that he does not want to return to his own. Show him a good time, introduce him to the right people. Just keep him here.”

The para choked on his coffee for the second time that evening as he read the profile. “You want me to say he’s a transfer para-investigator from Rome? You want him to work at I&I?”

“I believe that you will find him suited to the job.”

Somehow Toreth doubted that but he intended to have fun finding out. Not everyone was capable of torturing others. How scary could a magician in a black dress be?

~~~

Toreth leaned sideways on the two way mirror, watching Snape watching a top secret Level 8 interrogation using the old P&P. The prisoner was broken, crying and pleading, nose dribbling and mouth drooling. But his guest showed no sign of queasiness or horror. In fact, Snape seemed rather fascinated with the process. Indeed, he rather seemed fascinated with everything about their world. Fascinated but distinctly unimpressed if his sneers were anything to go by. And his sneers were basically all Toreth had to go by because Snape wasn’t much of a talker.

“What?” Snape suddenly turned to glare at him. At least it wasn’t another sneer.

“I’m wondering what you’re thinking. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a relief that you’re not one of these fucking morons who ask a million questions and engage in ‘small talk’,” they both shuddered slightly, “but I can’t help but wonder what you think about all this.”

“So you hope to read the answer on my nose?” A bemused smirk was accompanied by a raised eyebrow; expression #3.

“Your no-? No, I was just checking you out.”

“No amount of staring will render me any more attractive to you,” Snape scowled before returning to his observation of the room.

He had a point so Toreth didn’t insult them both by arguing. Still he had to admit that he was feeling a bit of a tingle of interest. Snape was clearly fascinated by the job and that acceptance was something Toreth hadn’t even realized he wanted. It made the man... attractive.

He had a steady…thing with Warrick which he had no interest in giving up. Warrick knew him and understood him and trusted him. Combined with their brilliant sex and Warrick’s somewhat tolerance of Toreth’s fucking around, life was as good as Toreth felt it was going to get and they’d even recently moved in together. However Toreth’s job was a non-topic because Warrick hated it. ‘I fuck you, not your job’ was his oft-repeated explanation.

It was okay though because Toreth had Sara, who was his admin and the only other person in the world that he trusted. And when neither of them met his needs, he’d go find a night’s entertainment on the town. He did not do repeat business; Warrick was his only serious… lover.

“You’re still staring,” Snape turned to him again but this time he turned the full force of the penetrating stare of his black eyes on Toreth. Warrick also had dark eyes and though Snape’s were much darker, and both had a tendency to be intense. Warrick also had a bit too much nose though his was still considerably smaller than Snape’s.

He couldn’t quite tell what Snape’s body looked like. Though the man had been bought I&I uniforms and no longer wore his robes, as apparently the black dress was called, he now wore a black duster which still managed to cover his body. He appeared to be rail thin though. Warrick had a beautiful body.

“Who is Warrick and why are you comparing me to him?”

Toreth started at the bizarre query. Even if Snape had heard about him and Warrick from someone in the office, though who it could have been considering that everyone avoided this unfriendly time traveller, it would not explain how he knew that Toreth had been comparing them.

“What?” When in doubt, play dumb, don’t guess. Snape wasn’t cooperating though and merely raised that condescending brow before turning away with a smirk. 

“So, do you think you can do this job? I can organize for a quick training course for you, say, tomorrow?”

“I taught hundreds of magical teenage brats for over a decade and I interrogated some of the sharpest wizards of my time, I think I can handle this, barbaric though it may be. In my time I used different, better, methods,” Snape drawled. “Although,” he conceded, “I also used potions. Who makes yours? I wish to examine them more closely- your potions and, perhaps, your Potions Master.”

“I think you’ll find dealing with high level criminals a bit more difficult than some teenagers.” Toreth smirked. “Even if they were ‘magical’. Our drugs and serums are made by our pharmacology department. Come, let me introduce you to my friend, Daedra. I think you’ll like her.”

Toreth assumed that the highly technical conversation between Snape and Daedra was successful. He certainly had never seen the man quite so animated or verbose. The only part he paid attention to was when Snape suggested he ‘brew’ some of his potions for comparison with the modern medicines. One of Toreth’s ‘hobbies’ was experimenting with Daedra’s drugs and he suspected Snape could brew a mean cocktail.

“Toreth?” Daedra had apparently called his name before. “Will you volunteer or would you prefer for me to volunteer while you observe?”

He noticed that Snape had his stick in his hand. Snape twirled the narrow piece of wood between long fingers, an act Toreth found oddly seductive and hypnotic. He found the oddest things about the man to be hypnotic. The only thing traditionally attractive about the so-called wizard was what Sara called his mocha voice. Dark, rich and sweet like chocolate tinged with words as bitter as coffee, it had the stimulating effect of caffeine. Toreth looked forward to hearing it during sex. In fact, the more time he spent with Snape, the more he looked forward to seeing that carefully controlled face contort with pleasure.

“If you are afraid…” Snape’s smirk was mocking and irritated Toreth. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be afraid of because he hadn’t been listening but he certainly wasn’t afraid of any ‘magic’ that could come from a twig.

“No, I’m not afraid. Go ahead, do your little ‘magic’ thing.”

Snape seemed to sneer and smirk at the same time. “Well…Daedra,” he said, stumbling over the name. Snape seemed to struggle with all forms of casual conversation. He still insisted on calling Sara ‘Ms Lovelady’ 80% of the time. “Which spell would you like to witness first?”

“Um, well, I’d really like to see the torture one, the Cruci- Cruciatus? However my guess is that Toreth might lose interest after that.” Snape nodded his agreement so she continued, “how about the Imperius?”

“Perhaps we should leave the Unforgiveables for last, hmm? Why don’t I start with a Babbling Curse?” he asked as he muttered something in an ancient language and flicked the stick.

“Babba bub babba?” Toreth tried to ask but to his surprise only foolish babbling came from his lips. How odd considering that he hadn’t felt anything. He swallowed and tried again, “Booboo, ba gaga?” Even speaking slowly and carefully resulted in foolish words. Toreth massaged his throat nervously but shook his head. He didn’t believe in magic. He wouldn’t believe in magic. 

Still, he was now eyeing Snape warily as the man flicked his stick again. “Don’t! What was – what the fuck did you do to me?” he hissed, this time in perfectly normal speech. “Fuck!”

“Why don’t I show you the Conjunctivitis curse next?” Snape asked Daedra, completely ignoring Toreth. He once again flicked his stick and Toreth found himself crying out as the most intense pain seemed to radiate through his eyes. He struggled not to make a sound but after what felt like hours but was certainly less than a minute, Snape flicked his stick again and the pain was gone.

“What did you feel?” Daedra looked at him with wonder. “Did it hurt?”

“Did it…? Did it fucking hurt? Daedra, you know me. Do you really think I’d volunteering cry out like a fucking girl? It felt like he split that fucking stick of his into splinters then poked it in my eyes and set them on fire! Fucker!”

“It’s a wand,” Snape corrected dismissively and continued speaking to Daedra, “Next we will observe the Densaugeo.”

Toreth ran to the mirror to see just why Daedra’s eyeballs had almost popped from her head. He accidentally bit his tongue and cut his lips on his ridiculously oversized teeth. “Sixth shit!” Toreth snarled. “Sick sith!” he tried again and this time Snape muttered the counter-curse. “Damn it, Snape, I said fix it!”

Toreth was fast losing his sense of humour with these foolish party tricks. He didn’t know how Snape was doing what he was doing but he couldn’t help but feel a little fear of anyone who could do what the man was doing with a few words and a flick of a stick.

“Give me that!” he yanked the stick from Snape and moved to the electronic pencil sharpener. He’d show Snape what he thought of his stupid wand! See how impressive he would be then.

“Toreth, no! What are you doing? You can’t destroy it!”

“Accio wand!” Snape commanded and the damn thing pulled from Toreth’s hand and flew across to room to its owner. Toreth’s eyes widened. “Levicorpus!”

To his horror, embarrassment and fascination, Toreth felt as though an invisible hand had grabbed him by the ankle and now held him upside down, suspended in mid air.

Daedra quickly quieted her own screams by biting her hand. 

“You do NOT destroy a wizard’s wand, Muggle!” Snape hissed, his black eyes blazing with rage. “Crucio!”

In training school they’d each gotten a miniscule taste of the neural induction probe. That had been mild in comparison to this pain. He felt his bones on fire, his head splitting open and his mind being torn asunder. He was insanely grateful when Snape released him from the suspension and more importantly, the magical torture. No wonder the fucker wasn’t impressed by a Level 8 interrogation if he could do this without getting his hands dirty. Why the hell did Citizen Surveillance want to keep Snape around? Toreth imagined Snape being put in charge of high level interrogations. With the power to inflict this sort of torture without even touching the victim, there would be no need to unofficially or officially authorize the old upper level interrogations because there would be no fingerprints, no evidence. 

“Fuck,” his legs wobbled precariously as he tried to stand. “Fucking hell, Snape. Just… fuck!”

“Shall we continue?”

“No!” both Toreth and Daedra yelled at once.

“Hell, Snape! After what you just did to me, you expect me to just continue?”

“I have had to do much more after longer and multiple bouts of that curse. Hell, even Potter was able to escape the Dark Lord’s clutches and retrieve the body of his peer after been exposed to the Cruciatus- and he was only fourteen at the time!”

“OK, okay, fine. Whatever, your magical people are amazing. This Potter kid you’re always on about is amazing. Just don’t fucking wand me anymore.”

“I’m not ‘always on’ about Potter!” Snape denied hotly and Toreth rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry Toreth. I didn’t realize,” Daedra apologized distractedly as she eyed the wand speculatively. “I don’t want to do anything painful again but,” she swallowed audibly, “perhaps you can show me, on me, what the Langlock looks like?” Snape muttered something and flicked his wand and suddenly she grabbed her mouth. She looked so terrified that Toreth considered intervening but Snape spoke the counter-curse and Daedra excitedly exclaimed, “That was amazing! I didn’t even feel anything but then when I went to tell you so, my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth! I mean literally stuck to the roof of my mouth, Toreth! Amazing! Please, another one. What about the Tarantella one?” 

“Tarantallegra,” Snape corrected before starting the curse. To their amusement, Daedra began dancing wildly.

“Whoa! Whoa! I can’t stop it!”

“Enough!” Snape stopped the spell. “I will show you how to make amazing potions. If this foolish wand waving impresses you, I can show you more! Better! With potions you can re-grow bones, heal burns, stop nightmares, breathe under water,” he looked at Toreth as he said that last one, “One can brew glory, even put a stopper… in death!”

Toreth looked away from the black eyes. Though he would much rather not believe in it, he had seen and felt magic at work. He could no longer deny it and was now convinced that Snape was sometimes reading his mind, literally. How else would he have known Toreth’s fear of drowning? He wanted to confront the man because Senior Para-Investigator Val Toreth did not back down from anyone…except Severus Snape. Though he would die before he ever admitted it to anyone, especially the wizard himself.

~~~

“I wish to go shopping or harvesting,” Snape said to him when they had returned to his office and Sara had brought them coffee. Sara did not serve coffee; she was not his office maid. It was merely her excuse to eavesdrop on his conversations.

“Shopping or harvest- harvesting?” Toreth couldn’t hide his shock at the request. Where the hell did Snape think they were?

“Erm, I don’t think there’s anywhere to go harvesting in New London,” Sara invited herself to the conversation. “But I can definitely help you with the shopping if you’d like! What do you need to buy? New clothes? ‘Cause I know just the place,” she babbled hopefully. Snape’s eyes unnerved her which was an achievement in itself. Sara was not easily intimidated.

“I have already been provided with an entire wardrobe in my new flat. I require food and potions ingredients. I also wish to look for my own kind so I suppose a tour of New London would not be unappreciated.”

“They didn’t put any food in your flat?” Sara looked ready to scold whoever was responsible for the oversight. She reminded Snape of Minerva and he briefly wondered how the war was proceeding… or rather, how it had gone without him. He would ask the first wizard he saw.

“There were things in cans, boxes and bags with pictures of food on them but there was nothing fresh. I require fresh fruits, vegetables, herbs, meats and fish,” he stopped at the looks that Toreth and Sara shared. “Will this be a problem?”

Sara shuffled her feet uncomfortably and Toreth shrugged. “Fresh things are rare these days. I think I was already in my thirties before I ever even tasted a fresh fruit. The processed crap is good enough for most of us. You can survive on it, I guess,” he shrugged unapologetically.

“Maybe Warrick can show him,” Sara swallowed her words nervously at Toreth’s glare. She had only just regained some of his trust after foolishly revealing his secrets to Carnac. Toreth was a very private person and Carnac had used the secrets she carelessly shared to hurt Toreth and threaten his life with Warrick. She vowed never to make that mistake again yet it seemed she was making it now. Warrick was off limits.

“So this Warrick fellow enjoys cooking with fresh ingredients, does he?”

“How? I never said anything to him, Toreth, I swear!”

“I believe you. He reads minds. Cut it out!”

“I do not ‘read minds’,” Snape sneered. “I do, however, use Legilimency. It is, to simplify matters,” he said slowly, his tone clearly implying that he felt forced to do so because of his audience’s limited intelligence, “a sort of, telepathy. You do know of telepathy at least, I hope.”

Sara blushed and Toreth ignored the comment. “I don’t care what the fuck you want to call it. Just stay out of my head.”

Snape nodded, “Warrick?”

“I will ask him where to take you to shop.”

“I see that he is very important to you. You are very possessive of your lover.”

“I said stay out of my head!”

“One does not need to ‘enter the mind’ when the face expresses all so clearly. You are mostly an admirable master of self-control, Toreth. I suspect that you could master the arts of Legilimency and Occlumency. Except where Warrick and to a certain extent, Ms Lovelady, Sara,” he corrected with a nod, “are concerned. With them you wear your emotions on your sleeve.”

Toreth considered denying it but he suspected Snape would know he was lying. He didn’t believe for a moment that Snape would stay out of his head since he knew what he would have done if their roles were reversed, and though it irked him to admit it, he felt that he and this strange wizard had a lot in common.

Once Sara left the room, Snape leaned towards Toreth and murmured silkily, “I know that you’ve been tasked with seducing me to keep me in your time.” He held up his hand, “I learned that before you asked me to ‘stay out of your head’. I also observed in your colleagues’ minds that they believe us to be lovers already. It seems you have something of a reputation, hmm? And yet, either seduction has changed over the centuries or you have not tried.

“At first I thought you found my appearance an insurmountable obstacle. Yet today I caught you openly staring at me, wondering what it would be like to kiss me, what I might look like under my clothes. I dare say, you’re probably even a little hard right now,” he smirked as Toreth shifted in his seat. Snape exhaled slowly and deliberately along Toreth’s exposed neck, “I propose a compromise. I am not, shall we say, averse, to exploring a physical relationship with you and evidently, in spite of this Warrick, you are not averse to the possibility either. 

“We go shopping and touring this evening and, if we are successful, perhaps we can return to my flat and compare the changes and constancies in sex over the millennia?”

Toreth was unbelievably hard. Snape’s voice was every bit as seductive as he knew it could be and the man’s frank honesty and sense of danger were both thrilling and refreshing.

“Let’s go. Now.”

~~~

Both men lay in bed happily exhausted. Neither considered himself a cuddler but both were used to their lovers wishing to cuddle after and each was surprised but unwilling to admit he missed it.

"Well..." Toreth chuckled. It had been one of the better fucks of his life. Snape was as talented with his tongue in bed as in verbal sparring. He was clearly no virgin pining with unrequited love for some red headed woman from his childhood.

"Indeed."

"Pretty impressive for a straight man," he said, rolling to his side and facing the sallow man. He ran his fingers lightly over the surprisingly healthy looking chest and paused to appreciate the strong, wiry arms.

"Straight?"

"Yeah, well, your one true love was Lily Evans, wasn't she?"

Snape stiffened momentarily but then he recalled the events of that afternoon’s visit to the museum. Bored with the Administration sanctioned drivel the tour guide was spewing, he had used Legilimency to discover the truth. Apparently his life was now a much researched part of history books. The memories of Lily he had shared with Potter were now public knowledge.

... At least among the ‘resisters’ in the so-called Cult of Snape. Even when he was famous, he was appreciated only by the infamous. To the rest of the Muggles, he was a pitiful misunderstood heroic spy, lost in time. He wondered briefly if they would update the history books now that it was known where in time he had gone.

"Hmm," he murmured non-committally and closed his eyes. "You were hardly my first male lover."

In truth, Snape had never dated any woman after Lily. When he was younger, it always felt like he would be cheating. But over the years he’d had to admit, if only to himself, that he simply preferred men. In fact he preferred being fucked but was not at all averse to fucking. Indeed some men should only be fucked.

He smirked as he thought of the many occasions on which he’d pummelled Lestrange's tight little ass in revenge after Bella had angered him.

Turning to meet the para's eyes, he was assaulted by the strong projections of curiosity. Toreth was curious but too proud to ask. Just as well, Snape hated small talk after sex.

~~~


	4. Part 1.3

**History has thrust something upon me from which I cannot turn away.  
-Martin Luther King Jr. **

~~~

"Warrick, Snape, Snape, Dr Keir Warrick," Toreth introduced them warily. As a general rule he didn't introduce his fucks to Warrick and worse, he simply didn't trust Snape. His carefully neutral face turned to a worried scowl as he watched the emotions flicker across Warrick's face.

"S-s-snape? As in Severus Snape, the wizard?" 

"Yes," Snape began.

"Wait, what? How? Who? Wizard?" Toreth stumbled over his words in his incredulity. Did Toreth know Snape? How could he know someone who existed centuries ago? 

"I recognized you from," here he paused and glanced at Toreth, "my brother's books."

Toreth scowled. He would have to have a chat with his lover about reading Tarin’s illegal books and worse, admitting to it in public... even if that public was the subject of his unlawful knowledge. Tarin was a reckless resister whose very existence as Warrick’s brother had endangered both Toreth and Warrick in the past. Indeed, Toreth had reason to believe that Warrick’s father was involved in Tarin’s near murder not too long ago.

Snape raised a dubious eyebrow, "What sort of literature does your brother read?" Seeing the wary glance once again flickered at Toreth and sensing the uneasy tension in the room, Snape stepped between the lovers, his back to the para. "Perhaps," he slipped his hand on Warrick's waist and leaned towards him, lowering his voice silkily and initiating subtle legilimency, "we ought to discuss this another time? I do not wish to get you into any trouble with your lover..."

Warrick swallowed audibly. He felt weak at the knees; in fact it felt almost as though Snape's intense black stare was caressing his mind. It was at once thrilling, disturbing and to his embarrassment, arousing.

"Whatever. Listen, Snape here wants to buy some 'fresh fruit, vegetables and herbs'," Toreth interrupted loudly. "We're hoping you can recommend some real food shopping markets or whatever," he said impatiently, pulling Warrick possessively into his embrace.

Severus Snape needed his considerable Occlumency skills to control the laugh that threatened to bubble over. Toreth was so pathetic! Even Potter had better self-control. Snape sneered at the thought- even with centuries separating them, it seemed he’d never get rid of the brat.

"I'll do you one better," Warrick smiled at Snape, "I'll come with you. I doubt we could find anything pure enough to use in potions... I assume that's what you wanted them for?"

Toreth glared as Warrick stepped from his embrace and pulled on his coat. Still ignoring Toreth, his eyes only for the dark, broody interloper, Warrick led Snape towards the front door. 

Half caught between sulking until he had Warrick's attention and fearing the very real possibility that he'd be left behind, Toreth was pleased to be distracted from his self-pity and anger by a breath taking kiss from Warrick.

"Coming?" At Warrick's smile, Toreth just barely resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Snape. It was just as well that he didn't look at the thin face because the condescending smirk would have undone him.

~~~

Sitting in the car, Toreth's minor victory soon lost its glow. Warrick was as fascinated with Snape's descriptions of potions and magic as Daedra had been. Even Snape's knowledge of the properties of fresh vegetables appealed to the cooking snob in Warrick, much to Toreth's jealous disgust. He’d never understood why Warrick insisted on cooking from scratch when he could afford to buy the quality ready-to-eat meals.

As they neared her neighbourhood, Toreth called Sara on the comm and invited her to join them. Best case, she would help him by keeping Snape distracted, worst case she could keep him company; he'd certainly had enough of playing third wheel.

They hadn't even reached the outskirts of New London by the time he realized his error. Snape's words and voice held the complete attention of the other two. He'd wanted to believe it was only the sexy voice but on the few occasions he bothered listening in it became obvious that Warrick was as interested in spells and potions as Sara was fascinated by the tales of Snape's life. He wasn't even bothered that Warrick had revealed Snape's true identity to Sara; he trusted them both enough that once he had reminded them of the need for secrecy, he simply ignored them. All three of them. He refused to be yet another worshipful devotee at the altar of Snape. 

"So, Severus, earlier you said that you also want to meet more of 'your kind'. What did you mean? Are there other time travellers?"

"I do not know of other travellers. I meant other wizards."

"Oh," Sara answered, glancing at the other two. "I don't think that there are any left. I've certainly never heard of magic people before."

"You wouldn't have," Snape struggled to control his sneer and remain charming. "We keep to ourselves; we live apart from the Muggle world."

"No, I'm so sorry but I'm afraid she's right. Do you remember Harry Potter?" Warrick began but quickly held up his hand to forestall the hostile response clearly on Snape's lips. "Yes, yes, sorry. Of course you remember him. Well, after you disappeared, Harry Potter ignored your message that he was a horcrux. He tried killing Voldemort but the Dark Lord kept returning every decade or so. And at every return he was more vicious until after a serious of events in December of 2012 when the Muggle World became forcibly aware of the Magical. Your Ministry of Magic could not keep up with the violations of your Secrecy Act, advancing Muggle surveillance technology or the actions of the Dark Lord’s by now global followers. 

Eventually the Russian and Chinese Ministries of Magic joined with Muggle governments to use satellites designed for tracking potential terrorist training camps to find and destroy the Death Eater camps. By the time the Dark Lord was finally vanquished in the mid 21st century, Muggles and Wizards were struggling to co-exist. 

Eventually the French Muggle government used a nuclear bomb on a Wizarding town and so the war began. Magic is powerful but I'm afraid it had not kept up with Muggle technology and we won. By the twenty-third century all of wizardry was annihilated and any child born with magical abilities was," here Warrick blushed and swallowed uncomfortably, avoiding Snape's and then Toreth's eyes for the rest of his speech, "executed. At first they were sterilized but in spite of all Muggle medicine, their magic would heal their bodies. So eventually it was decided that the only solution was to kill them and sterilize their parents and any siblings. It was strongly believed that magic was genetic but when it affected so many unconnected families all over the world with no known magic in generations of their ancestry, that theory was brought into question.

But, as I said, by the 23rd century magical children stopped being born with any frequency and the last known magical child came from India in the 25th century. So, listen, I'm sorry but 'your kind' doesn’t exist anymore. In fact I'm surprised that they didn't kill you on the spot. Or at the very least try to castrate you."

The shameful blush turned into embarrassment when, to his horror, Warrick caught himself glancing at Snape’s crotch.

Snape smirked and adjusted himself as he watched Warrick lick those kissable lips. Unlike his thin lips, Warrick's were a little plump, almost feminine in their soft just-been-kissed beauty. He couldn’t help but think of how much they resembled Potter’s insolent lips. Snape’s smirk faltered: when had he been looking at the brat’s lips? True the brat often nibbled on them when struggling to use that useless brain of his but Snape should never have thought of them in this context. He was free of the burden of taking care of the arrogant whelp, why couldn’t he simply forget the boy? Snape’s smirk was saved from becoming a fierce scowl by Toreth’s anger.

"Yes, well, thank you for that history lesson, Warrick. It was fascinating," Toreth snapped, roughly smothering in a punishing kiss in an attempt to ruin the Potions Master’s distracted stare which he had mistaken for a lust filled trance. 

Which was just as well since Snape had more important matters to attend to. He refused to believe that all of Wizardom had been eliminated and quietly hoped he would find a hidden society soon.

It seemed, according to Warrick, that the war had been lost thanks to Potter's arrogance and mulishness. He needed to go back to his own time to save the world he had twice vowed to protect.

At any rate, his disappearance and the subsequent discovery of his true importance in the war had led to the near deification of his name. Muggles throughout the Administration resisted in his name. Ironic when one considered that the truth of his life consisted of conforming to the wishes and authority of his masters. Still, if this fame led to him being recognized by any secret magical societies he would not be the one to complain.

~~~

Toreth was fast losing what little remained of his patience. For the past hour, his three companions had gushed over more varieties of fresh produce than he was even aware existed.

He hated the condescending way Snape dismissed his concerns, using his wand to magick away people's curious expressions. Toreth was forced to amuse himself by ensuring that those who showed any sign of recognizing the resistance's figurehead took note of his para uniform. He was not jealous of Snape’s stick. Val Toreth had his own means of distracting people and making them forget. While his drugs, alcohol and seduction took more time, they were a far side more fun than twirling a stick.

Still, it was with undisguised glee that Toreth greeted Warrick's announcement that the day's adventure was finally over as they climbed into the car. He ground his teeth as he took in the two small bags of their purchases. A couple hours of his life and that was all they had to show for it.

"... I will have to take the whole day off because it's several hours drive each way or perhaps I can secure a corporate jet...Listen, I have an idea! Hold on," Warrick was saying excitedly before he pulled out his handheld communication device.

"What's several hours drive?" Toreth hissed at Sara.

"New Cardiff of course!" Sara beamed. "Oh I do hope he gets the jet, I would love that!" Seeing the lingering confusion in her boss' face, she elaborated, "Snape is going to use Warrick's kitchen appliances but he needs several pieces of equipment. He used his magic to put images in our minds of what he needs- it was so amazing! Anyway, they didn't look familiar to me but Warrick remembered seeing some of them once in an antique store in New Cardiff that he visited with family so he's taking us there tomorrow."

"I called in a couple of favours and got it. We'll fly out after breakfast," Warrick announced and he closed the comm.

"Tell me about this little village that you're taking us to,” Toreth commanded. “After all, I'm supposed to be the host here."

Warrick ignored the hostility in his lover’s voice and happily explained that they were going to visit a quaint little corporate village where traditional cottages had been preserved as vacation homes for ultra-wealthy Corporates. Not only would Snape likely find the cauldrons he sought but the surrounding forest which was a protected nature reserve might harbour the many herbs and insects Snape sought.

For his part, Snape's own restrained excitement came from the possibilities this new location held. If there were any Wizardfolk left, this place, this haven of nature and greenery, old houses and history, sounded the most likely place to find them.

"So, Severus," Warrick asked, to Toreth's utter disgust, like an excited kid the night before Christmas, "each time that someone recognized you or looked you suspiciously, you would point at them and mutter under your breath…"

"And every one of them would get this glazed and confused look in their eyes," Sara interrupted.

"What did you do to them? And how did you put those images in my head?"

"Memory charms," Snape said dismissively and Toreth hated him for it. Predictably the simple tease of an answer had Warrick and Sara begging for more.

Having heard about Legilimency, Occlumency and Obliviation already, Toreth tuned them out and spent the trip enjoying the view.

"... You really need to visit me at SimTech. I think you'd be impressed by what we can do. Then maybe you can tell me the difference between the two. In fact, considering that you know so much about the powers of the mind, I would love having you work with me-"

"I thought you didn't want too many Administration types hanging around SimTech," Toreth interrupted. "Do you think it's wise...Snape is the new guy after all. He might sell your secrets to impress his new bosses."

Snape scowled, his dark eyes flashing with a dangerous light that caused Toreth to hesitate for the briefest of moments, his eyes flicking to the wand; he did not forget how dangerous this man and his little twig could be.

"Actually, I don't think he even needs to go to SimTech to steal secrets if I understand Legilimency correctly," Sara remarked. "It sounds so invasive. You must feel so powerful having that sort of control over people," she purred.

"Yes but I choose not to abuse that power," Snape explained as he ignored Toreth's disbelieving snort. "However, it can be rather useful when necessary."

"I don't know how comfortable I feel with anyone having such power over my mind," Warrick remarked, sitting back thoughtfully. Toreth smirked.

"Can you try, er, do it, to or, er, on me?" Sara stuttered with nervous excitement. "Can you tell what I'm thinking about now? Can you really read my mind?"

"I can do so much more that read your mind, Miss Lovelady," Snape purred, causing all three of his audience to shift in an involuntary effort to control their sudden arousals. "I know that you're hoping that I don't know how sexy you think my voice is, that you," he paused and raised an eyebrow before smirking on, "masturbated to the memory of my voice just last night…I see that in spite of Toreth’s assurance that he just wants to move on from the Carnac incident, you still carry a great amount of guilt."

Suddenly images of Sara and Toreth having sex flashed before their minds followed promptly by hazy images of both Toreth and Warrick in Sara at the same time.

"No!" Sara gasped breaking free. "That, that last bit... That never happened. I..."

"Yes, I can tell the difference between a memory and a fantasy, Miss Love- Sara," Snape's neutral expression and clinical reply did much in calming Sara's flustered face and rapidly beating heart.

"Sara," both Warrick and Toreth looked concerned and the former offered her a bottle of water from the minibar while the latter glared at Snape.

"It's... I'm okay," Sara was relieved that her voice sounded much calmer than she felt. "It's... I could see what he was seeing in my mind. I guess in that way it's like someone being in the sim with you, seeing what you're doing. But it's not...Other than that it is not the same at all," she shrugged, unable to find the words to describe the experience.

"If you are unwilling to let me read your memories, you need only to lock them away," Snape reassured Warrick. "Clear your mind, simply imagine your thoughts locked away," he continued in a soothing, hypnotic voice. "I do not need to use Legilimency or Occlumency on you if you do not wish it. I could still give you a bit of a taste of the magic by simply planting a memory in your mind and then," he nodded at Toreth, "you need not worry that I will sell your secrets as I will have none to sell. Once you see for yourself just exactly what I can do, you may decide whether you wish me to work with you."

"I don't... I don't know," Warrick hesitated. Snape nodded agreeably and did not push it.

For the rest of the trip back they avoided the topic completely although it was obvious at points that Warrick was quite distracted and Sara somewhat subdued and nervous after her experience.

Soon she bade them goodbye with promises to join them the following day. Sara had barely entered her building when Warrick suddenly turned to Snape. "Okay then. Do it. Plant the false memory. But it has to be something clearly false, alright?"

"You don't have to do this," Toreth sat up, alert. He didn't want Snape anywhere Warrick's head sharing memories and he certainly didn't agree with the sick bastard fucking with his lover's mind. "You should think about this."

"I have thought about it and I have decided that it's worth the risk. There is so much potential to learn from Severus. It could give SimTech a greater edge!"

"I know you are worried about your lover but I promise I would never hurt him. Especially considering that he hasn't taken me to New Cardiff yet," Snape joked.

Toreth was not happy but he refused to say anything. How could he after what Snape had just said? He would never be accused of being one of those possessive and over protective lovers because he was not. He simply didn't trust Snape, that was all.

"Toreth?" Warrick seemed to accept his silence as consent. "Go ahead, Severus, do it."

Although he had implied that he would not use Legilimency on Warrick, Snape slipped into his mind briefly and observed Warrick's favourite Sim experiences and memories. Evidently the good doctor had a healthy sexual appetite and also enjoyed being tied up.

Changing tactics, Snape began.

_Toreth was late from work again and Warrick began without him. His hands slick with lubricant, he slowly stroked himself with one hand and fucked himself on two fingers._

_Toreth, entering the flat with Snape, was shocked but aroused by the sight that greeted them and hardened almost instantly. Indeed, if he was honest with himself he would admit that he was already half hard after sitting in close proximity with Snape and listening to that sensual voice for the better part of the last three hours._

_Forgetting his guest, he stripped as he hurried to join the writhing man on the rug._

_"Beautiful," Snape purred appreciatively at the scene before him._

_"Severus!" Warrick pulled away just as Toreth was about to enter him. Toreth quickly reached back for a nearby blanket to cover them._

_"Oh no you don't," Snape commanded silkily. "Petrificus Totalus!" He froze Toreth in his outstretched position; sitting back on his ankles, his cock jutting proudly in front of him and his torso stretched as he leaned back towards the sofa._

_“Toreth!”_

_Snape took advantage of Warrick's momentary distraction to whisper, "Incarcerous!" Warrick was shocked to find his hands and feet bound together. But not half as surprised as he was to discover that he was weightlessly levitating above his frozen lover._

_"Toreth?" he asked, relieved when his lover's eyes moved._

_"He is quite alright. I have not hurt him," a now naked and fully erect Snape stood behind him. Gently, carefully, he moved the still floating doctor into position so that his puckering hole was brushing lightly over Toreth's erect member. "Tell me, Warrick, are you comfortable?"_

_"Yes," Warrick hissed as the petrified but still warm cock once again teased his entrance._

_"Good," Snape purred in his ear. He smirked when Warrick whimpered, lightly brushing his wand over the bound man's face, along his neck, down around his nipples and then following the treasure trail down._

_"Fuck!" Warrick whimpered as the wand tip sent little painful jolts of electrical pulses along his skin. "Oh yes!"_

_"You're a kinky bastard, aren't you?" Snape asked silkily, the wand tip now hovering less than a centimetre above Warrick's profusely leaking tip._

_"Yes, please," Warrick begged, straining to touch his cock to the wand but discovering that Snape had somehow locked him into position. "Please, Severus! Please, please, please," he begged._

_"Let it never be said that Severus Snape ignores a doctor in distress," Snape smirked as he gently ran the wand tip just above the pulsing vein that ran along the underside of Warrick’s cock, occasionally making impact as the cock twitched and jumped._

_"Nngh! Argh! Fuck! Yes! Oh! Yessss!" Warrick pleaded, groaning as he came closer to coming._

_"Not yet," Snape announced and Warrick felt an invisible cockring clamp his budding erection._

_"Please!" he begged, groaning in despair. "Oh!" he gagged around a mouthful of Snape as he felt himself slowly gaining weight and subsequently becoming impaled on the gorgeous cock below him._

_Warrick was in both heaven and hell. Snape steadily fucked his mouth while lifting from and lowering him back onto Toreth's cock at a maddeningly slow place. He cried out around his mouthful as he was overwhelmed by the sensation of a half dozen hands pinching his nipples, squeezing his balls, fingers joining Toreth in his hole and caressing him all over sensually._

_Just when he was certain he could survive no longer, Snape popped from his mouth and disappeared behind him._

_"Severus?" He gasped as a second cock pressed into him. "Ohhhh!"_

_Toreth was in some kind of pleasurable hell. He couldn't move but his senses were hyper aware. He could smell the strong musk of arousal and feel the brush of flesh on his flesh and of Warrick on his cock. He tasted the occasional drops of sweat that splattered from both Warrick and Snape. So close to the action, he heard Warrick's every slurp, Snape's every seductive whisper..._

_And yet he couldn't move. He wanted to command Warrick to move faster once his tight was impaled on Toreth’s cock but could he communicate at all._

_Then Toreth suddenly felt everything as Snape released him from the spell. He felt his cock almost painfully squeezed as Snape joined him in Warrick. In spite of himself he could not contain the loud groan of pleasure which escaped him once he observed the sheer bliss on Warrick's face in the mantle mirror across the room._

_Warrick had never been stretched so widely before. It hurt so good. He only wished Severus would let him come. "Severus, argh! Please," he begged._

_"Yes," Snape groaned, his voice husky. Clearly on the verge of orgasm himself he cried out, "yes, Warrick, come! Come for me!"_

_Warrick almost cried as the invisible clamp released._

"Get away from him, I say!" Toreth was shouting, pushing the panting, perspiring Warrick away from Snape.

"Wha-? Fucking cockblocker! Toreth, why?" Warrick cried out as the spell broke.

"Are you okay? Warrick? Warrick, can you hear me?"

"Yes, Toreth, I'm fine!" Warrick struggled to snap angrily as the lust and arousal slowly cleared from his eyes. He marvelled at how stretched he felt, as though the two cocks had really been unceremoniously ripped from his willing body. "Severus, please, continue."

"What? No, Warrick, you should have heard yourself, the way you were begging and crying at his torture. Surely you don't want..." In all his distrust and wariness of Snape, only now did occur to Toreth to glance at his lover's lap. Sex... Of course that was why Warrick was begging. His lips tightened in disapproval but he said no more.

"Perhaps another day," Snape sheathed his wand and opened the driverless car's door. "I do believe this is my stop. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Warrick confirmed dreamily.

~~~

Toreth might not have had a clue about what Snape had done but he did know that he would be the only dealing with the consequences. Warrick lay contented in Toreth's possessive embrace. In his jealousy, Toreth had fucked Warrick sore; but Warrick certainly wasn't complaining.

With a self satisfied sigh and a small wince, he fell asleep dreaming of all the questions he had for Snape and determined that he would be inviting the Potions Master to SimTech in the near future. He had every intention of monitoring the difference between the brain under the sim and under Snape's magic and hoped the Potions Master would allow him to observe that brilliant brain. In spite of Toreth’s jealousy, it was the possibilities and opportunities for research that Snape could provide for his company that filled Warrick’s dreams. He was quite satisfied with Toreth’s sexual prowess, thank you very much.

~~~


	5. Part 2.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you happened by some miracle to have checked this story out before - and I know at least one person did cuz they left Kudos (yay!), please note that I somehow foolishly forgot to include the Prologue earlier. I have inserted it now.

**I have seen the future and it doesn't work.  
-Robert Fulford**

**Part 2**

It was only the pleasant lethargy of post-coital bliss that kept Toreth from fuming at the unrestrained looks of joy in Sara and Warrick’s faces as Snape joined them for the short trip to the airport and on to New Cardiff. He scowled lightly in response to the time traveler’s smirk. It was the best he could manage with what little energy remained after Warrick’s attentions that morning. He suspected his lover’s generosity wasn’t completely altruistic and that he was meant to be too happy and buzzed to fret, but he was too happy and buzzed to care about the manipulation and enjoyed the journey in tranquil bliss.

“You have reached your destination.” The car’s announcement awoke Toreth from a much need nap. He blinked owlishly, the remnants of too much expensive liquor from the plane’s mini-bar lingering on his taste buds. 

“Are we here?” he asked, deliberately interrupting Snape’s history lesson. 

“So happy you could join us,” the infuriatingly smug man scolded. “Yes, we are in Glorious Glamorgan, formerly known Cardiff, in the district of New Cardiff, formerly known as Wales. You missed quite an informative and educational discussion.”

Toreth ignored the lecture and got out of the car to stretch. He opened his mouth to yawn and ended up choking on a bug that had flown into the warm, open cavity.

“Fuck!” he shouted as Snape ‘helpfully’ thumped his back with unnecessary force. “Why would anyone want to live near these bloody pests is beyond me, far less wanting to consume anything made with them!”

He hurried forward to join Sara and Warrick as they strolled towards a large holographic map of Glorious Glamorgan, unwilling to walk beside Snape who looked like a first time tourist. 

“When you said that they had preserved old houses in this area, I did not realize you meant that this area was some sort of living museum of architectural history,” the wizard said to Warrick, pointing to the neighbouring buildings and then to the map, “I expected old Welsh structures preserved here but this…I did not expect this!” he exclaimed, waving hopelessly at the floating signs lining the streets of the holographic map.

**Name: Ripon Cathedral; Style: Anglo-Saxon Gothic; Constructed: circa 7th Century**

**Name: Auckland Castle; Style: Castle/Palace; Constructed: circa 12th Century**

**Name: Lancaster House; Style: Georgian; Constructed: 19th Century**

Large structures – castles, cathedrals, palaces, manor houses, university colleges, old factories and office buildings built centuries apart in cities and villages across the British Isles now lined the streets of this bizarre town in absurd disorder. Buildings which once sat on landscaped hectares now sat mere metres apart, separated only by roads, driveways and the occasional small park. A late 19th century steel mill similar to those of Snape’s youth in Northern England sat flanked by a grand medieval cathedral on the right and a late 20th century blue glass and steel tower from the City of London on the right. The grimy mill, still covered in soot, looked even grimmer in the shadows of its illustrious neighbours.

“They dismantled these buildings in their original locations and brought them here? Why?” Snape asked in horrified wonder.

“Actually, it was your kind,” Warrick began before censoring himself nervously. Fortunately, it was early and off-season so the streets were mostly deserted. Still, he stood closer to Snape and continued in a tone just above a whisper, “The story goes that buildings were being demolished en masse in the early 22nd century to make way for the buildings you see now in New London. It was several of the er, Muggles, who loved history and architecture, that approached the wizards and agreed to work together to try to salvage the buildings using a combination of Muggle Technology and magic. The project spanned almost 300 years, continuing even as magic was being wiped out. The official story is that these buildings were salvaged by The Administration and preserved here but I always doubted it. The Administration is too orderly to have created this layout. Cul-de-sacs, crescents, dead-end lanes – none of these fit into the ethos of The Administration yet they are everywhere in Glorious Glamorgan. If this had been an Administration planned town, it would have been much more orderly.”

Snape nodded his agreement though he felt that this sort of organic chaos seemed more magic-inspired than Muggle created and wondered if there had truly been any Muggles involved at all. He took a deep, fortifying breath and turned towards Ripon Cathedral, the nearest of the buildings. 

“This way, Severus,” Warrick called to him and pointed to a modern structure beyond the holograph. “We must use the monorail to travel around Glorious Glamorgan. The area is too large otherwise and only residents may use their cars.”

To his own shame, Severus Snape felt a sense of relief as they entered the structured order of sterile building, the absurdity of outside having become almost too much for him. Inside, a smaller, two-dimensional interactive map showed the quadrants that made up the town. Warrick tapped on the northwest quadrant to expand it and zoom in.

“I think we should begin here, in the Victory Park area. There is a large hilly wooded area which I believe is natural, not man-made.” He pointed to woods surrounding two of three arcs of buildings which circled an open park labeled “Market”. “There are stalls in the market here which sell real fruits, vegetables and herbs. The antique store I told you about is in one of the houses in this row of houses.”

“It reminds me of The Circus at Bath,” Snape mused aloud.

“Yes! Yes, that’s what it’s called – The Circus at Bath! I never realized that was its historical name. I thought a circus was a place with entertainers with painted faces?”

Severus told what little he knew about the difference between a circus and The Circus at Bath or Piccadilly Circus during their journey on the monorail. His information was partly fantasy considering that he had never visited either of these places with an informed tour guide but who could challenge him? If not even Warrick knew, and evidently he knew much of official and prohibited histories, then clearly the truth had been lost to time.

~~~

Visits to the market and antique store had been somewhat successful. Snape had procured an old pewter cauldron being sold (and displayed) as a flower pot. Fortunately, not even here near Victory Park were Muggles willing to encounter dirt. Consequently the flowers had been potted in some sort of foam, which he knew from experience with the silly potted plant Sara gave him for his New London flat, could be easily banished without damaging its container. He had also found a brass cauldron which had been gilded and he would scrape the infinitesimal layer of gold from it for possible future use. Several herbs had also been procured from the market. They smelled right and tasted right but whether their magical properties had been altered or diminished by their growth in the modern faux-soil foam product would remain to be seen.

The three men strolled along the curved road in front of The Circle, headed towards the second to last house which was also a clothing store whose charms had long before seduced Sara. They made an amusing sight: Toreth bored and brooding; Warrick chatting animatedly as he enjoyed the architecture around him; and Snape, his face in a light scowl as depression sunk in. 

While much closer to the world he left behind only a few months ago, even Glorious Glamorgan seemed cold, unnatural and impersonal, albeit less so than New London. Warrick had once again assured him that there was genuine earth in Victory Park but he found himself increasingly doubtful. Nothing here had so far been made from or of nature. Until now, there had been a part of him that dallied over finding a way back to his time. 

Oh, he mostly longed to return to his time – at times because he had developed an even greater appreciation for the importance of his duty; at times because, in spite of the miserable life he lived and the future he had no doubt would have ended with him Kissed in Azkaban, he longed to help Lily’s boy succeed. But he let himself be controlled by that small, vengeful part of him which enjoyed being revered as a hero, albeit only by secret revolutionaries, in a future that a Potter had ruined. But now, the longer he stayed away from magic and nature, the more depressed and anxious he felt. His instincts were becoming increasingly primal and he longed to sink his fingers in soil, crumbling root filled mud and inhaling earthy aromas.

“Hurry up, you three, I need your advice!” Sara’s shout from the doorway of the store made them look up.

Toreth grumbled and looked away, Warrick chuckled and waved while Snape stopped and stared. There, at the end of The Circus, stood his old home, looking only slightly less worse for wear except for a sign which had obviously not been there during his childhood. **Spinner’s End Inn and Pub** looked absurd tacked on to the end of the grand townhouses of The Circus.

“Severus?” Warrick called from several paces ahead.

“What’s that doing there?” Snape asked, pointing at the little terraced house.

“That’s the entrance to Victoria Park. Look, I know you’re worried about it and that modern structure probably doesn’t alleviate your concerns much but I promise you, that building is just the visitor center where they warn you about Nature and bugs and dirt and all the things people of our century do not encounter daily. It’s also got a gift shop, food court and washroom.”

Snape nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes, I can read the sign on the building. What’s that – between the visitor center and the end of the Circus?”

Warrick and Toreth exchanged confused looks and Snape realized that they couldn’t see the small house. Trying desperately not to hope – when had hope ever done him any favours? – Severus hurried ahead of the other men. There! He could feel the tingle of wards and Muggle repellant charms. Magic! Not since the first time his mother had taken him to Diagon Alley could he remember feeling such simple joy and a sense of coming home. That the small house at Spinner’s End had never felt like a home to him was moot. It was now the most beautiful building in the world as far as he was concerned.

~~~

Only a lifetime of experience with disguising impatience kept Severus from rushing to the pub. Instead he resisted the pull of the magic which seemed to resuscitate his soul and joined Sara with a joyous smile which had nothing to do with hers. A few discreet spells later and he had abandoned his hosts and left to breach the weak wards around his new haven.

Deathly silence greeted Snape as he entered his sitting room which was now the tiny pub. To his immediate left, the wall ending with the door to the kitchen was lined with hooks covered in a curious mixture of the modern shiny material favoured by the Muggles and old weathered Wizarding robes. To the right, his bookcases and rickety furniture were gone. In their place, two small square tables, each with barely enough room for two, jostled for space under the front window that looked out on to the street. Though the four stools around them were unoccupied, the abandoned, still steaming bowl of stew and pushed out stool showed where at least one diner had just left. Snape snorted in amusement at said diner, a stout, wide-eyed, gaping man in robes who was pointing at him with a spoon and licking a wand. He was half crouched behind the inadequate shelter provided by a rectangular picnic table with low benches around it that took up what little space was left in the middle of the room. Behind the would-be defender, in a narrow bar which started at the kitchen door and stretched across the back wall of the room, stood a middle-aged, pointy-faced blond polishing a mug fastidiously. 

“Who…you…you can’t be you, can you?” gasped an elderly woman who appeared through the door beside the bar.

“Of course he’s him!” cheered a little girl no older than eight years old who clattered down the stairs, almost tripping over the diner’s abandoned stool. She quickly pushed it under the small table and reached for the dishes in practiced, subconscious actions. She frowned at the still full bowl and turned towards the diner. “Don’t you want your stew nice and hot, Dr. Longbottom? You’d better come eat it soon! Come now, Master Snape isn’t here to hurt us, are you, sir?”

Severus barely controlled a flinch as he felt the little hand slip into his. Had she Apparated across the room? Caught staring at _Doctor_ Longbottom, he hadn’t seen her move. Severus Snape did not like surprises. Looking down at the little girl with his fiercest scowl, he was startled into silence by twinkling blue eyes which reminded him most wretchedly of Albus Dumbledore.

“So I _do_ have his eyes!” the child laughed, causing him to immediately check his Occlumency shields. “My name is Ali Malfoy. Well, it’s Albus Malfoy but only Mum calls me that, and only when she’s really angry,” she explained, pointing to the lady from the kitchen who, on closer inspection, was perhaps not quite so elderly. “Dr. Longbottom named me after Headmaster Dumbledore when he saw my eyes.”

Severus, still in shock, simply nodded, allowing the precocious child to lead him towards one of the bar stools. “This is my dad, Marius Malfoy and my mother, Stella Greengrass,” the child introduced before scolding her parents, “Mom, some food for Master Snape! Dad, the glass is polished enough - pour a drink for Master Snape!”

An hour later, his stomach filled with hearty stew of miscellaneous meat, crusty bread and sweet, nettle tea, Severus had never enjoyed a meal more. He had also learned a lot about his companions. While Marius had been immediately recognizable as a Malfoy, Snape was surprised to discover that he also descended from the Weasleys. Only one generation after Snape’s disappearance, Scorpius Malfoy, Draco’s son, had married Rose Weasley, daughter of Ronald and Hermione Granger-Weasley! He wondered how Lucius, or indeed Draco, had taken the news. Unfortunately Marius did not seem to know whether they had even lived to hear of it. 

Stella Greengrass descended from a Squib son born to Daphne Greengrass in 1999, his paternity hidden then and subsequently lost to time. Daphne had sent him to live with other Squib relatives in some small town in Australia where generations of disinherited Greengrasses (and other British purebloods) had traditionally been exiled. Though shunned by their magical relatives, the pureblooded Squib Greengrasses remained devoted to all things magical and would immediately ship any wizards and witches born to them back to England.

Even centuries after magic was thought purged from the world, they had still lived in hope and sent Darius Greengrass, Stella’s great-great-grandfather, back to the ‘mother country’ as soon as he first exhibited signs of magic at age 9. How he and his guardian, Lee Anderson, an adult Australian Squib descendant who seemed to have a special affinity with earth magic, had managed to escape detection by the authorities on their journey around the world was unknown. Nevertheless, this feat was enough that they and their descendents had gained considerable influence and power along with the Malfoys and Longbottoms of England. Severus had almost choked on his tea at that news – the descendants of Neville Longbottom as magically powerful must be fate’s cruel joke. Although _Dr._ Longbottom turned out to be a lot more intelligent than he first appeared to be.

“There are only a few of us,” Dr. Noel Longbottom explained, “and even our own families think magic is the stuff of legend. Many of the so-called resisters who follow the Cult of Severus Snape are Muggles who believe your story to be mostly myth, symbolic of the misunderstood. We have a few spies among them but we are mostly happy to let them occupy the attentions of The Administration. These are dangerous times to be magical and families are encouraged to report on each other. Only those of us with enough magic to see through the wards can come here though many have heard of the Pub’s existence.”

“The Malfoys have lived here for centuries since Abraxas Malfoy bought The Circus at Bath from Muggle owners and moved it here in the year 2159,” Marius continued.

“In this house?” Snape interrupted; he could not imagine Malfoys living in his childhood home. His memory of Cissy and Bellatrix’s visit still seemed like a bizarre bad dream and not just because of the vow he’d been forced to make.

“No. Officially we are Mark, Stella and Alice Mallory, wealthy Muggles who live next door in the attic flat at #7 The Circus at Bath. We own the entire house but Abraxas did something so that even now, centuries later, the Muggles still don’t realize it. Stella is the headmistress of the local school on the first floor of #7 and Ali is a student there. Lee Anderson did something so that only a wizard or a witch can hold the head post but it is not a magical school and most of the teachers and students are Muggle. I am the director of the Visitor Centre, also thanks to Abraxas’ actions in the 22nd century. Lee spent decades trying to figure it out but only managed to replicate the curse on the school before he died.”

“And Fawkes used to work at the library in the basement,” Ali contributed.

“Fawkes?”

The adults shifted uncomfortably and the little girl rolled her eyes.

“This is Master Snape! Of all people, we can surely tell _him_!” She turned to Snape and explained, “Fawkes is my older brother. He is twenty-seven and many, many years ago – it must be at least three – he vanished, kind of like you! No one remembers why he left but we can’t go to the authorities because Fawkes disappeared in a restricted area in New London. He is the strongest wizard in centuries. His real name is Fred but he is known as Fawkes because as a child, he escaped from a fire by Apparating. Apparating is real! I wish I could Apparate!”

“Of course Apparating is real!” Snape snapped.

“There are only ten wands left in all of Britain and most of them were found in unexpected places like secret compartments in furniture or even once being used as a twig in a Muggle’s art exhibit piece! The forty-three known wizards and witches share these wands which are kept by the strongest ten of us,” Stella explained.

“But the truth is,” Dr. Longbottom continued, “that most remaining wizards and witches are barely one step above Squibs. There is no formal training school like Hogwarts Academy and we have to be careful not to be seen together very often. That is why, although I live closer to Shell Cottage in Scotland which is one of the three magical meeting places in Britain – the third is in The Plains formerly known as Salisbury – I mainly visit Spinner’s End. You see, I work for the wealthy Corporates who vacation around here. Since the authorities turn a blind eye to them, it’s easier to hide in their shadows to escape the scrutiny.”

“So, Fawkes…” Snape urged hesitantly. He did not want to upset the only magical folk he had met in this time but he couldn’t help but feel that he needed to know about the mysterious Malfoy son. “You said he was the strongest magically because he could Apparate? What area of New London did he disappear from?”

Marius Malfoy sagged against the counter, as though the weight of the loss of his son was suddenly too much for him to bear. His wife gripped his hand, perhaps to give him strength, perhaps to borrow some of his, perhaps a bit of both.

“It was more than just his unique ability to Apparate at will, a magical ability we had begun to believe existed only in nostalgic myth – no one had done it in centuries! And unlike the rest of us, he could do dozens of spells every day without suffering magical exhaustion. He said that he drew magic from the earth itself and he could even use Lee Anderson’s staff disguised as a walking cane instead of sharing the Malfoy family wand. He could do glamours and Notice-Me-Not spells, on his own, at any time. 

“You must understand, to keep the wards up around the three magical communities, we have to work as groups at special times of the year and use blood, sex and even birth and death magic to sustain them. We do not know how the wards work, just that there are traditions which were told and tell our children must be done to keep the sites alive.”

“Perhaps it was our fault, constantly praising Fawkes and challenging him to try to perform spells we had heard about in stories but…one day about four years ago,” Stella continued the story, “the school and library hosted a field trip to TALAC - The Administration Library and Archive Complex in New London. Despite being one of the chaperones, Fawkes disappeared for half an hour in the Portrait Gallery, forcing me to cover for him. 

“I was obviously upset but that night, when we returned home, he told me that one of the portraits spoke to him. We had heard and read about talking portraits but thought that was some sort of misunderstanding by wizards who had seen Muggle television and misunderstood. But Fawkes insisted that a portrait spoke to him. So over the next three months, magical folk from around Europe visited TALAC but the portrait spoke to no one else. We were uncertain but he’s our son, you know? So we supported and tried not to doubt him as the others did.

“Until Nanette, the four year old daughter of a Muggle Corporate, claimed that the same portrait spoke to her. Fortunately, her parents dismissed it as childish imagination and her nanny, who is one of us, was able to bring the little child here. She knew things that Fawkes had shared with us and no one else. She was even able to give Fawkes a message from the portrait.”

“What was the message?” Snape prodded.

“She – the portrait was of Ariana Dumbledore, sister of The Great Albus Dumbledore – asked Fawkes to return. After that he became increasingly secretive, spending untold hours in Victory Park on his own. Then one day he wished us goodbye and said he was going on a mission. He hoped to be back but he seemed unsure. We have heard nothing of him since.”

Snape held Stella’s hand and schooled his face into what he hoped was a reasonable facsimile of Dumbledore, The Magnanimous. He had seen the old coot use the technique often enough but was surprised when it actually worked for him. Stella looked directly at him, her mind practically throwing information at him before he had could even cast Legilimens. 

He watched as she followed a boy with Weasley-red hair and pointy Malfoy features through the Spinner’s End pub’s kitchen and out into an enormous back garden that was not original to his childhood home. The young man, presumably Fawkes, walked through a large greenhouse and into what was likely Victory Park. The memory ended when he climbed up a tree and disappeared. Another memory quickly took its place, this time of Stella following her son up the stairs at Spinner’s End and watching as he sorted several books in a bookcase. The image of the bookcase was distorted, suggesting to Snape that Fawkes’ actions were masked from his mother by some sort of magic.

“Master Snape,” Ali interrupted, bored with ‘the moment’ her mother and the Potions Master were apparently sharing. “Is it true that a werewolf tried to kill you when you were a student at Hogwarts? They say that it was an Animagus that set the werewolf after you – what is an Animagus? Is it true that you could brew a potion called Polyjuice that changed your appearance into anyone else you wanted to look like?”

Snape couldn’t decide whether to be more annoyed at the child’s interruption or appalled at the equally curious looks that the adults shared.

“You do not know what an Animagus is? Have you never heard of Polyjuice potion?” he asked the adults, unwilling to accept what seemed the obvious truth. 

“No, we don’t,” Dr. Longbottom replied. “What little we know of potions comes from a notebook my ancestor Neville Longbottom transfigured into a serving tray his home while a student of yours. It was preserved until the magic finally faded away about a century ago when the tray at Shell Cottage reverted to a book. Although it, like what few magical books are occasionally salvaged, was sent to Upper Canada for safety, a few of the potions recipes were copied. Many tried them but most recipes did not work. In fact, quite a few wizards died in potions explosions. I suppose we do not have enough magic in us,” he apologized, misinterpreting the look of horror on Snape’s face.

“Neville Longbottom? What little is known of potions comes from LONGBOTTOM?!”

~~~

By the time that Snape left The Spinner’s End Pub and Inn two hours later, he had shared a vial of properly made Pepper Up potion with his new acquaintances and a stale Canary Cream (that he had seized from some student at some point in his past and accidentally transferred to his Muggle coat). He also taught a competent Longbottom how to successfully brew a simple healing salve using herbs harvested from the Pub’s kitchen garden. He obtained generous helpings of soil-grown herbs from the greenhouse, courtesy of Stella. Not to be outdone, Noel gave him the address of a Squib who lived in the same New London residential complex as Snape and baked pumpkin pasties made from real pumpkins grown in Scotland. The prices were extortionate but being a para-investigator (information he chose not to volunteer) paid well.

After much hesitation, Marius finally gave him directions to Ariana’s portrait in TALAC.

“It’s not that I doubt your ability to take care of yourself,” he apologized, “but TALAC is filled with scholars who know your story. Even though membership in the Cult of Severus Snape is treason, there is still a large portrait of you in the Portrait Gallery wing of the complex which serves as a trap. Any adult who looks too fascinated or impressed by your story becomes the subject of interest and frequent target of harassment by junior para-investigators. Even though you are lucky to have been befriended by a Corporate sponsor, if you must go there, please be careful.”

“And now it’s my turn. Here,” Ali interrupted, thrusting a small book in Snape’s hand and looking directly into his eyes. “Fawkes gave it to me before he disappeared.”

“Ali, love, are you sure you want to give it away?” her mother asked with concern. “You love that book!”

“No, I don’t,” Ali replied hotly, “who reads books?! I only loved it because Fawkes gave it to me before he disappeared. Plus, I already scanned it into my comm.” She turned back to Snape’s eyes chanting “Open it!” repeatedly in her mind. “I don’t know why he wanted me to have a physical atlas of New London though. There’s nothing special in there.”

Snape opened the atlas and smirked as Fawkes’ notes began to magically appear in the margins of the book. Clearly the boy hoped that his sister had enough magic to see what he had written and she in turn hoped that the notes wasted on her might be useful to an adult with greater autonomy.

~~~

“Severus, there you are!” Sara greeted as he joined them in the clothing store. “We were just beginning to wonder where you’d gotten to as none of us could figure out when we’d last seen you.”

“I told you to stop fucking with my head, Snape,” Toreth snarled.

“Toreth!” Warrick scolded, “why do you insist that he did something to us? Even you admit you saw him only a few minutes ago!”

“Except that we’ve been here for three hours now so it can’t really have been a few minutes ago that I last saw him!”

“Ignore him, Severus,” Warrick apologized, “he gets like this when he’s hungry. Listen, I don’t want to upset you but I don’t think we’ll be able to spend as much time in Victory Park as I had promised.”

“I’m sorry,” Sara added, “I don’t know how I managed to spend so much time in here! I didn’t mean to waste your day! Unfortunately, we only have the jet for another two hours so-”

“Just enough time to grab a late lunch,” Toreth interrupted, “maybe have a quick stroll into Victory Park and then we need to get back on the monorail to begin the journey home.”

“Or,” Warrick suggested sternly, “we can find something to eat on the monorail and spend a little more time in Victory Park.”

Having already enjoyed all the earth he could want in the back garden and greenhouse of Spinner’s End, Severus, eager to read his new atlas and visit TALAC, could afford to be generous.

“That’s quite alright, Warrick. I can be satisfied with a late lunch and a quick stroll into Victory Park. Perhaps it’s because we are closer to the Visitor Center entrance but I already feel much better than I did this morning. Shall we go, Miss Lovelady?”

~~~


	6. Part 2.2

**Whoever wishes to foresee the future must consult the past; for human events ever resemble those of preceding times. This arises from the fact that they are produced by men who ever have been, and ever shall be, animated by the same passions, and thus they necessarily have the same results.  
\- Machiavelli  
**

~~~

Though less than an hour altogether, the journey back to New London was one of the longest and most tiring of Severus’ life. Almost as long, perhaps, as the first trip on the Hogwarts Express without Lily after _that_ awful incident with _that_ word.

He longed to read Fawkes’ notes in the atlas or have a few moments’ peace to reflect on what he had learned from those at Spinner’s End but he had already spoiled Warrick and Sara into believing him a far more social person that he truly was. Nevertheless, he did not waste the journey and instead had his three companions – even Toreth – tell him all they knew about TALAC. Only Toreth seemed a bit suspicious about his sudden interest about the Complex but those concerns were easily put to rest by playing into the para-investigator’s willingness to believe the worst. Toreth readily accepted that Snape’s interest was based on the discovery that there was a large portrait of himself in the Portrait Gallery.

“You know,” Warrick mused aloud, “I was rather worried that tourists would recognize you in New Cardiff and we’d have a riot on our hands.”

Toreth snorted. “Have a little faith in my abilities, would you? I only agreed to this because old Snape here can change his appearance with his stick, er, wand. We see him as he is, everyone else saw…who did you go as today, Snape?”

Severus was too distracted to do more than scowl distractedly at the ‘old’ and ‘stick’ comments. He waved his wand across his face revealing the face of Roman Para-Investigator Severini Sanguedolce – essentially Severus Snape but with blue eyes, fuller lips, better teeth and olive toned skin.

Sara grinned when Toreth growled at Warrick’s appreciative whistle. Severus was also a little annoyed by Warrick’s response to the glamour until it became obvious that the doctor’s whistle was in appreciation of the spell itself.

“There would have been nothing wrong with appreciating Para Sanguedolce’s looks. He’s quite easy on the eyes,” Sara noted, winking with playfully exaggerated flirtatiousness at Snape.

“Toreth, thank you for having trusted me with knowledge of his real appearance all of this time!” Warrick exclaimed with a sappy smile.

Snape scoffed but said nothing. He knew that Toreth’s decision to introduce Snape rather than Sanguedolce to Warrick had everything to do with Snape being less attractive and nothing to do with trust. After all, Toreth, as neither a patron of the Arts nor History, hadn’t expected Warrick to recognize Snape any more than he had.

~~~

Arranging a visit to TALAC turned out to be more difficult than Snape had expected. All visits were guided tours. As a solo guest, he was required to either join a pre-scheduled group tour or download a virtual SIM guide which would check him in to every room or corridor he entered.

And, in the paranoid future of The Administration, even visits to the Complex required reservations booked with ID. All citizens were required to carry ID at all times. From birth, children were given jewelry containing ID chips and which only qualified staff could remove and would only remove to replace with larger ones. Severus despised the ID system which, as he knew from his work with Toreth, tracked the every action and activity of every citizen. Fortunately, Sara willingly completed the application for him – Snape still refused to learn how to use his comm or any of the Muggle technology if he could avoid it – and promised to download the holographic simulated companion (or SIM) for him. 

His suspicious wariness about using the card was quickly justified when he cornered a stalker the evening after scheduling his tour. The stalker was a government official by the name of John Sable who knew Toreth. Sable was aware of who Snape really was and it was he who had given Toreth the false history for Sanguedolce. Unknown to Toreth, Sable was not relying solely on the para to monitor Snape. Unfortunately, there was not much more that Snape could find out. For a Muggle, Sable’s mind was suspiciously well occluded. Snape knew from his visits with Daedra that Muggles, during their years co-existing with Wizards, had developed drugs which mimicked Occlumency. However, he also knew that not even Toreth or the other para-investigators at I&I were aware of the existence of those drugs. Snape himself only knew because he saw Daedra’s memories of it using Legilimency. John Sable was clearly a member of the Inner Circle of The Administration and consequently a very dangerous fellow.

Severus had no regrets about using the Imperius curse on Sable in order to convince him to trust Toreth’s monitoring abilities absolutely. However, now that he was aware that wizards still existed and further, that The Administration was keeping close tabs on him, Severus’ old spy reflexes quickly returned to him. The adults he met at Spinners End had been magically weak but Ali and Fawkes were not, nor, apparently, the Muggleborn Corporate child, Nanette. Magic was returning to the latest generation and he would take no chances that other magical children around might recognize him, even with his glamour.

Two days later, Para Sanguedolce strode arrogantly into the Portrait Gallery at TALAC, barely sparing a glance for the life size portrait of Severus Snape. Truthfully, he captured the image in his mind and fully intended to appreciate it later, in the relative privacy of his home. For now, he launched his SIM guide as Sara had taught him. The life sized, virtual companion projected from the visitor’s badge pinned to his chest. It looked like a colourful version of one of Hogwarts’ ghosts but behaved like a cross between a shadow and a mirror reflection. 

“Welcome to The Administration’s Library and Archive Complex, Para-Investigator Sanguedolce! My name is Sam and I will be your guide for today,” greeted the SIM. “Please follow me. We must board the automated transport vehicle to the Portrait Gallery.”

Snape snorted, wondering what the automated transport vehicle or ATV really was. For whatever reason, except for less noise and fewer emissions, Muggle transportation did not seem to have evolved much. They still had ‘cars’, though the modern version was driverless, wheel-less and resembled a small train car with restaurant booth-like seating and, in fancier versions like Warrick’s, included a table, comm. and a small fridge. The monorails at Glorious Glamorgan were a series of long tubes with mostly standing room which, contrary to the term rail, hovered above the ‘track’. The mono-rails, like the cars, had no windows. Warrick had explained that this was because travel was now so fast that the human eye couldn’t see anything anyway. For his part, Snape believed it was because there was nothing worth seeing anymore.

As a mere projection, Sam was unable to walk ahead. Instead he led the way by providing directions, loudly objecting and correcting if Snape so much as turned his body the wrong way. They stopped when Sam’s virtual feet touched the edge of a white glass floor on which lines periodically lit up. These lines which were apparently colour-coded to match the destinations on the signage, glowed under and just ahead of the various sized hovercrafts. Snape guessed that the lines were some sort of track, appearing just long enough to guide the ATV cars hovering over them. A tour guide with his group of above two dozen pointed his comm. upwards and Snape was surprised to see the undercarriage of several cars. The long narrow tube descended and a bright purple line – the colour for ‘Archives: Birth, Marriage and Death Certificates’ – appeared under it. 

They were next and Sam somehow summoned a tiny car with barely room for two and invited him to enter. When Snape sat, Sam mirrored his actions and smiled cajolingly. Snape scowled in return and looked away. Warrick had warned him about these SIMs. They were not sentient beings but were programmed to read his heartbeat, guess his mood and ‘cheer him up’. The Occlumens found the concept appallingly invasive.

A minute or two later they arrived at their destination which was at least an hour’s walk away. It wasn’t Apparation or even the Knight Bus, but at least Muggle travel really had become much faster over the centuries. Despite knowing that Sam would always be just ahead of him, Severus rushed from the car, unnerved by the constantly smiling…thing.

“Welcome to the Portrait Gallery. The Administration…”

Severus immediately tuned out the guide and its propaganda about The Administration’s supposed dedication to history and culture. As advised by Fawkes’ notes, he had had Sara program the SIM to take him to a section of the gallery not far from his intended destination. All he needed now was a patsy. 

There were many visitors around – as Fawkes’ notes had assured him there would be – but none of them were suitable. Twenty ‘portraits’ (actually sculptures) later, Snape was just beginning to rethink his plan when he spotted a tall woman who resembled him in height and build. After a few minutes observation, it became obvious that she was not acquainted with anyone in her group. Thanking Merlin, he quickly followed her when she lagged behind. Deliberately colliding with her, he quickly confounded her, pinned his badge to her blouse and planted his ID in her purse with few flicks of his wand. As he stepped away from her, Sam reset just as Fawkes and Para Chevril had boasted it would.

“Welcome, Para-Investigator Sanguedolce and Civilian Anna Smith. Let us continue our tour of the Three Dimensional Portrait Gallery of the late 21st Century,” Sam said as he led the confounded lady away. Snape snorted – the Muggles were too dependent on technology. Apparently, as long as he remained hidden from any human guards, censors would not recognize him, simply because he wore no ID. 

Severus was not sure how much time he had. Based on what he had learned from Chevril, it was likely that the SIM guide leading Smith’s group would not notice that she had gone missing until the end of the tour. He could only hope, based on the still energetic and eager looks on her group members’ faces, that the tour had just begun.

He hurried towards the section where the magical portrait was purported to be. Almost as soon as he entered the area, he could feel the place come to life. A light susurration around him disturbed Snape more than he would admit, especially since, despite the harsh Muggle lighting, he could not tell where the sounds came from. He heard his name among the whispers and scuffles but a few quick scans with his wand showed that no other human was nearby. He was now certain that Ariana’s portrait, which was still two corridors away, was not the only Wizarding portrait in the gallery.

“Mother, mother! It’s him, it’s really him!” cheered a translucent child who suddenly appeared in front of him. Snape’s heart skipped a beat as he looked at the girl. “Hello, Master Severus Snape! My name is Helen.”

“Are you sure?” asked a woman, presumably the child’s mother, who floated through the wall and into view. It was then that Snape noticed that they were not SIMs. Both were grey and very obviously dead, wooden stakes still jutting from their chests. “Why yes, dear, I think you’re right! How do you do, Headmaster Snape? My name is Joan and this is my daughter, Helen.”

Severus nodded to them both, and ran his hand over his face, more startled at the appearance of the ghosts than he cared to admit. For some reason he had not considered what might have happened to them. He unsheathed his wand, wary of any additional surprises.

“Don’t worry,” Joan reassured, “your glamour is still up. We simply see through it. We can do a lot of things now that we never could years ago when many wizards and witches still lived.”

“Things such as?”

“This!” the child exclaimed and half skipped, half floated forward to hold his hand. Severus shuddered as he felt the cold, clammy fingers threaded through his. The ghost had also materialized until she was almost opaque.

Severus carefully extracted his hand. “Yes, I see. How very clever.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Joan smiled. “Headmaster Dippet thinks that it is because there are so few wizards and magical creatures left. He says that because the earth is now so swollen with unused magic, even we ghosts can access a bit more than usual! Turn right, Headmaster Snape. I presume you’re looking for Ariana and Fawkes, aren’t you?”

Severus nodded. “I was told that Miss Dumbledore’s portrait was to the left?”

“Oh, it is! But she’s watching over Fawkes from Headmistress Sakndenberg’s portrait in the room on the right.”

“What is wrong with Mr. Malfoy?” Snape asked, making note of all of the portraits that apparently existed still.

“Mr. Malfoy?” Helen asked, confused.

“Yes?” replied a weak voice. Severus hurried forward to the young man slouched on the floor behind a kiosk. A few quick diagnostic spells and he was cursing himself for not having thought to bring along more of his potions. Fortunately he always kept at least one dose of Pepper Up potion on hand which he now fed to Fawkes.

“Please resize my bag,” Fawkes asked once the potion had given him enough strength to pull it from his pocket, nodding thanks to Severus once it was resized. Opening the bag, he first withdrew a bottle of water which he sipped, then a bar of chocolate which he nibbled on as he continued riffling through his things, finally retrieving his ID.

Snape was beginning to lose his patience and looked around urgently.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting so long,” Fawkes apologized as he wobbled to his feet. “I have been here for a while… two, perhaps four days now and am exhausted. I was beginning to think I would die here and hardly expected anyone to come along, far less another wiz…It’s you!”

Snape rolled his eyes and pulled the young man along.

“How? What? This is brilliant! I never expected…! Maybe the child…Nanette was right!”

Snape ignored the man’s rambling as he kept an eye out for Sam or Anna Smith. He had to retrieve his ID and badge and get to the relative safety of his flat. He had hoped to find out information from the portraits but finding Fawkes was just as good, if not better.

~~~

Snape emptied Fawkes’ bag onto his dining table and searched through the items. The young man was medicated and safely asleep in Snape’s bed. Leaving TALAC had been easier than getting in. Almost too easy, Snape thought, but Fawkes’ knowledge of The Administration and the Complex had helped.

“It’s a good article, isn’t it?” Fawkes asked, startling Snape from his reading. He scowled to cover his embarrassment and dropped the **Prattler** magazine special edition.

**Severus Snape: The Man Who Should Have Lived?** by Clement Longer was indeed an entertaining piece of fiction. Filled with speculation and laughable hypotheses, it purported to tell the story of Snape’s life as a triple agent – the man who pretended to be a Death Eater pretending to be a Hogwarts professor and then Headmaster who was really a spy for the Light. The author even went so far as to speculate that Dumbledore considered Snape to be his heir to the leadership of the Light. Severus snorted.

“Dunderheaded drivel!” he declared.

“Is it?” Fawkes asked, appearing to be genuinely curious. He helped himself to one of the strange packets from Snape’s food cupboard. Snape considered warning his guest that whatever had been in packet had long ago spoiled but was too annoyed by the man’s presumptuousness to bother. He watched quietly as Fawkes empted the clumps of dust onto a plate and sprinkled a cup of water over it. The young wizard did not seem alarmed or disappointed by the shriveled debris and, with a hum of anticipation, stuck it in the drawer labeled Rehydrator X50. Seconds later he removed a steak and kidney pie, grabbed a fork and settled next to Snape at the table.

“Yum! Not quite the same as the real thing, I know, but it’s what I grew up with. I missed this!” he exclaimed between bites. Snape did not reply, instead mentally reviewing the inventory of his kitchenette. He had hundreds of those packets of dust but had never realized what they were. He wasn’t sure that he would have wanted to eat them anyway, even if the food smelled and looked appetizing.

“I – I’m sorry, I should have asked, shouldn’t I?” Fawkes asked as he swallowed the last bite. I was just so hungry and I didn’t think you would mind.” He smiled in relief as Snape waved away his concerns. “Good. I hoped you didn’t mind.”

“Where have you been for the last three years?”

Fawkes blinked. “Straight to the point, aren’t you?” Snape scowled and Fawkes smiled. “You’re just like Hermione said you would be.”

Snape blinked. Hermione? Perhaps the better question was ‘when have you been for the last few years’. He glared.

“Alright, alright!” Fawkes chuckled. “Where do I begin? What do you know about me? What do you know about Wizarding Britiain? How long have you been here anyway?”

“Begin at the start. I met your parents and sister at the Spinner’s End Pub where they told me about Ariana Dumbledore’s portrait and your disappearance three years ago. I know there are 3 magical pubs – in Scotland, England and Wales – where the forty-odd wizards and witches socialize. There are only 10 wands in Britain. I have been here almost three months.”

Fawkes nodded. “Three – forty – ten wands! What? Wait, my parents? How are they? How is Ali? I’ve been gone three years, did you say? She must have grown so much by now!” When Snape did not reply, Fawkes simply sighed. “Right. Begin at the start.”

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm splitting this chapter in 2 because I fear it might be a little onerous to read in one go otherwise!


	7. Part 2.3

~~~Fawkes Shares His Adventure~~~

I suppose it all started when I chased after a wayward toddler in my tour group at the Portrait Gallery. I have always been drawn to the gallery and visited often. But the section of the gallery to which the child ran is not on any of the guided tours I’d been on and I’d been on many tours. As I picked up the giggling boy, I heard an echoing giggle of someone older. I turned around expecting to see that one of the older children had perhaps followed me but instead I thought I saw movement in a picture of a girl.

When I stepped closer, the toddler waved at the picture and squealed, ‘Pretty!’

The girl in the picture giggled at that and waved back to the child. I do not think he saw her or if he did, he didn’t respond to her. But I almost dropped him in my shock. I had heard of magical portraits which moved and spoke but we all believed that it was just myth or the Wizarding equivalent of Muggle television.

Anyway, once I got over my shock, I began chatting with the girl. The paintings in that section have no labels but she told me that her name was Ariana Dumbledore. She told me about her brothers, of whom she was very proud. She also knew random bits and pieces about history but not much. I don’t think she’s…normal. Anyway, after a while, the little boy began to get restless and cold. We were both cold which I now believe was because of ghosts around us but back then I couldn’t see them. Back then, I wasn’t as strong magically as I feel now.

You see, until three years ago, everything beginning with your story, was quite different. You didn’t disappear from the Hogwarts corridor as it says in the **Prattler** , you died in the Fiendfyre. My ancestor from your time, Draco Malfoy, caused your death when he refused to let go of a Time Turner on a long golden chain he had found in the Room of Hidden Things aka the Room of Requirement. Harry Potter tried to save you by throwing the chain but Draco resisted on reflex. Draco did not hate you or want you to die and in fact spent his entire life in regret.

On the other hand, despite the fact that he tried saving you, Harry Potter apparently still hated you for killing Albus Dumbledore. Trying to save you was just his reflexive “hero complex” as Lucius, Draco’s father, described it to me. Potter hated you and, after he destroyed what he thought were all the horcruxes and then Voldemort, he decided to destroy everything that he knew of that belonged to you. When Dumbledore’s portraits tried to get him to see reason, he became convinced that during your tenure as Headmaster, you used Dark Magic to manipulate or somehow infect the portraits of the Hogwarts Headmasters. He soon convinced the Wizarding world of your guilt and all of Dumbledore’s portraits – and most of the contents of the Headmaster’s office – were also destroyed. 

Harry Potter had gained a lot of power after he defeated Voldemort. He quickly became the youngest Minister for Magic and with the help of his friends and fellow heroes, Ronald and Hermione Weasley, he reformed Wizarding Britain and welcomed Muggleborns and their families to attend Wizarding schools from as young as age 3 or once their magic had manifested. In five short years, his changes were deemed such a success that he was invited to give speeches around the world. 

By the time Voldemort reappeared in the year 2008, the only person anyone would turn to for help was Harry. His memories of his conversations with Dumbledore were revisited and reviewed by key figures but no one could figure out why Voldemort had survived. Harry concluded that there was another horcrux and while the few he confided in about horcruxes went searching for it, he hunted Voldemort. 

In 2012, a young Muggleborn Daily Prophet reporter by the name of Clement Longer – yes, the same name as the Prattler Muggle reporter – realized that Voldemort’s appearances coincided with Harry’s. Harry was travelling the world and so was the terror of Dark Marks in the sky. There was a lot of speculation about what that could mean but some people began to suspect that Harry was working with the Dark Lord. They accused him of doing it to increase his fame on an international level.

An influential Muggle politician who had unknowingly married a Squib and had a magical child – much to his disgust – united the world’s Muggle armies. With his partner in crime, his pureblood wizard brother-in-law, he charted a plan of action. Their first target would be the Minister for Magic and his companions. Harry did not defend himself. Though he did dispel a Patronus warning to Hermione and Ron, they had already been assassinated. The newlywed Weasleys would leave behind a young daughter, Rose, my ancestor.

The Muggle politician immediately betrayed his brother-in-law. They had agreed to kill all Muggleborns but instead witch-hunting was reintroduced. By 2014, Wizards the world over were voluntarily submitting to oppressive pureblood regimes which ceased absolutely all positive contact with Muggles. But during Harry Potter’s short but influential time as Minister, he and Hermione were able to show the benefits of adapting some ideas from the Muggle world, as had been successfully done in other countries such as America. Not only did these joint projects make a lot of money in the wizarding world, but also in the Muggle world. So the separation was not absolute and a few wizards were given special permission to live among the Muggles. Officially they were spies but in reality, they were just businessmen. 

Using the Gaunt and other pureblood families as examples, Hermione had also pointed out the dangers of inbreeding and the benefits of embracing Muggleborns. So, after 2014, in a perversion of her intentions, Muggleborn children were kidnapped from their parents and raised in Wizarding orphanages. Mixing with or marrying Muggles was forbidden on penalty of death while marrying Squibs was encouraged in the belief that this might awaken some latent magic. Instead, by the early 22nd century there were more Squibs than wizards and witches despite the influx of Muggleborns. Worse, Muggles were still giving birth to witches and wizards and these children were often magically stronger than purebloods. Squibs, who were considered expendable if caught by Muggle authorities, were forced to work as Muggle health professionals, social workers, teachers and policemen in order to most easily identify and kidnap magical children. 

This caused resentment by Squibs that they were so easily sacrificed and chaos among the Muggles whose CCTVs recorded the kidnappings and other crimes but found that their indictments were not deterring further thefts. Soon, the Muggle armies of the world once again united against magic, buoyed by their easy success with killing the Golden Trio in 2012. This united army, called The Administration, was based out of London because that is where the seat of Wizarding power was also located. The Administration began to take control by destroying the City in order to build purpose designed barracks. Entire neighbourhoods were bombed because though the Muggles still could not see places hidden by magic, they do see when people suddenly disappear. Any area where magical presences were suspected was labeled for destruction.

Some of the wizard ‘spies’ like my ancestor, Abraxas Malfoy, revealed themselves to Muggle historians and aestheticians desperate to save historical buildings and works of art. Together they created the districts like Glorious Glamorgan. But while cooperation saved buildings, it could not save Magic, and by the end of the 23rd century, Magic was believed eradicated worldwide. 

When I left here three years ago, there were only two wands, not ten, one of which was found in a Muggle art display. There were only five magical families including mine. Each family lived in a flat in #7 The Circus and we lived as wealthy Muggle Corporates. Marriages were arranged with the known magical families around the world. My mother was from Australia and my father’s sister was sent to marry someone in India. This kept us from becoming inbred Squibs, but only just. People also migrated when they neared 80 years old. While Muggles now regularly live to be 100, we still live longer and age more slowly. Our elders migrating to new distant communities not only kept from drawing unnecessary attention but also helped with maintaining relationships. For centuries we kept below The Administration’s radar by being model Corporates, even occasionally using what little magic we had to identify and betray rebel resisters in order to show our dedication to the regime.

Our only social venue was Spinner’s End. After you died and Potter began to destroy your things, Draco Malfoy saved your childhood home, moving it onto the Malfoy Estate. We did not understand why Abraxas Malfoy salvaged it but it was among the first places he moved into Glorious Glamorgan. As I mentioned before, I have always loved TALAC and visited it many times. With magic, we can simply summon any book we want so cataloguing like Muggles do was never a priority. But I love order – cataloguing, labeling, indexing…the cottage was my playhouse and my parents let me organize at leisure. In the process I found miscellaneous items of interest.

One of these items was Draco’s last diary. In it was a letter from you to Harry Potter, charmed onto a Muggle photograph of his mother and a long letter from Harry himself. It seems that the reason he had not fought or resisted the Muggle army in 2012 was because of the message you charmed the photograph to reveal only when he was genuinely ready to hear it. He willingly gave in once he knew he was the final horcrux. How Draco knew he was ready to hear it and convinced him to visit the cottage and not destroy it is unclear. What I do know is that Draco wrote of his guilt at not having made more of an effort to get the photograph to Harry earlier. Considering how powerful Minister Potter was, I doubt a disgraced Malfoy could have done anything earlier. Nevertheless, a year or two later, Draco charmed the Time Turner choke him to death, leaving behind his wife and young son, Scorpius Severus. 

When I met Ariana’s portrait and heard her many tales about her brother, Albus Dumbledore’s constant wish to undo the past, I myself became obsessed with trying to do the same. As far as I knew, I was the strongest wizard alive and Draco’s diary had remained hidden in plain sight for centuries until I found it. I felt I was destined to change history. I had little magic but I did all I could to strengthen it whenever I could escape the watchful eyes of the others at #7 The Circus. One day a spell I was trying to teach myself went awry and I accidentally damaged the floor of a bedroom at The Spinner’s End. Trying to repair it, I noticed something shiny between the floorboards. It was the infamous Time Turner and a note too damaged to read.

Not a minute later, my mother was calling me to meet to a little girl called Nanette…a Corporate Muggleborn – possibly the first Muggleborn in centuries – who was brought to the Pub by her nanny who is a witch. Nanette had spoken to Ariana and relayed the message that I should return to TALAC. Then Nanette mysteriously added to me in a whisper, “You should also show take the pretty bijou. **He** needs it.”

Knowing that if I was caught carrying a magical artifact, I would be ‘reprogrammed’ by your colleagues at Int-Sec, I said my goodbyes to my family. I knew it was foolish but I told them nothing, hoping to protect them. I hooked the gold chain of the Time Turner around my neck under my shirt and went to visit Ariana. But I will never know what she may have planned to tell me. Taking the device out to show it to her, I unintentionally touched the hour glass, apparently setting it off. 

One moment I was in TALAC, then it felt like I was Apparating and I found myself in the study in Malfoy Manor. I recognized the room from a painting. I also recognized Draco who was wrapping the golden chain around his neck apparently about to kill himself. I panicked and tried to wandlessly Accio the device. Instead I triggered it and as I watched, 33 year old Draco Malfoy disappeared and I felt the tug of apparition again. 

I blinked and realized two things in that instant. First, the décor of the study had changed subtly and second, there were now two of him – two older versions of him! These Dracos were twice as old and one 60-something year old Draco stood watching as the other 60-something year old Draco wrapped the chain around his neck and disappeared. Then there was only one Draco staring at the empty chair in shock. After a few seconds, he collapsed into his seat and swore, ‘Merlin’s bollocks!’ and he careful deactivated the Time Turner by locking it.

I don’t know how I knew but I knew instinctively that I had changed history in some way. In keeping Draco from killing himself at 33, he lived on at least twice as long. But here he was, 30 or so years on, and still trying to kill himself with the device so clearly the change wasn’t completely positive. Perhaps I should have waited to find out what had happened differently but I was impatient. When a few minutes went by and I realized Draco wasn’t about to do anything else, I used the magic I have always been exceptionally talented in – compulsion magic. I concentrated, willing Draco to use the Time Turner to go back in time and correct whatever mistake had driven him to suicide. I thought it wasn’t working, especially when he simply jumped up and exclaimed, ‘Broom…I’ll need a broom!’ as he ran from the room.

I left my hiding spot behind a statue and for about fifteen minutes, sat in the seat Draco had just vacated, wondering what I should do next. Then suddenly the Time Turner and the charmed photograph of Lily Evans in my hands disappeared and for the first time I was worried. I realized that in convincing Draco to use the Time Turner, I had probably changed history in such a way that the device was not in Malfoy possession in the future and consequently I would never have found it. I was centuries in the past with no way of getting back. 

Scorpius Severus, an adult, not a young child as he would have been had I not interfered, found me when he Flooed into his father’s study, intent on picking a fight over Draco’s drinking and refusal to attend Harry Potter’s memorial service. I explained who I was and that I had travelled back in time using a device which had now disappeared. They used Veritaserum, Legilimency and various interrogation techniques on me before accepting that I was telling the truth. Fortunately they did not connect my appearance with Draco’s disappearance because Scorpius’ wife, Rose, found a brief note Draco had apparently written explaining that he had borrowed Arturius Malfoy’s broom because he was off to save the world.

I lived at Malfoy Manor with Scorpius, Rose and their son Arturius. History had changed – Voldemort had been reincarnated several times rather than returning just the once and possessing Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy hadn’t killed himself, he had just disappeared with his grandson’s broom. His guilt over what he’d done to you had made him an alcoholic and strained his relationship with his wife and son. But the guilt had also driven him to becoming Harry’s Auror partner which, along with Scorpius’ friendship with Albus Severus Potter and marriage to Rose Weasley, had done much to rehabilitate the Malfoy name. 

And yes, I said Albus _Severus_ Potter. Though Harry had still destroyed everything that was yours and Albus Dumbledore’s in the first few years after the war, by the time that he and Ginny Weasley married in 2007, he no longer hated you. Through getting to know Draco at work and speaking to Narcissa before she died, he found out about an Unbreakable Vow that you had taken to protect Draco. Though he was still upset that you killed Dumbledore, he respected that you did it to save Draco. When he found out from Lucius’ portrait that you had also begged the Dark Lord to protect Lily, he forgave you and named his second son after you. 

For almost a decade – not three years – I lived with the Malfoys. They bought me a wand and I learned a lot about magic from my ancestors’ portraits and from the extended Weasley family. But no one could help me to find my way home. Not even Hermione who was a highly respected Unspeakable and walking fountain of information.

Then on the eve of Beltane in 2050, Arturius, who was as voracious a reader as his grandmother, Hermione, found a book in the Malfoy library that he thought could help me. In it was a ritual to be done on Samhain which reunited people with their loved ones in different locations. It included a variant of the _Harmonia Necto_ charm that Draco had amended to repair the Vanishing cabinet. It would be risky and I would probably die but I had to try it because while I had grown magically stronger in the first few years, my health was beginning to weaken. 

I also suffered from many nightmares… or memories or visions – I couldn’t be sure. I worried constantly about having changed the past. Harry still gone and the Malfoys had finally stopped searching for Draco. Then Ron, who joined the Auror service after Harry’s death, died trying to save some Muggles from rogue dark wizards, there was only Hermione left. With the Wizarding and Muggle worlds only too aware of each other and not co-existing peacefully, the Wizarding world put a lot of pressure on her, as the last of the Golden Trio and a Muggleborn, to be a leader and symbol of hope. I felt that I had killed Draco for nothing and worried about my family here in the future. I had no choice but to try the ritual.

We amended the spell to try to bind me with my family through time as well as space but knew it would need a lot of magic if there was any chance of success. So on Samhain of 2050, with the help of almost a hundred wizards and witches I had befriended (admittedly, most of them were Weasleys), along with a few Squib and Muggle Wiccan supporters, I went to Stonehenge and performed the ritual. As they chanted the spell I felt nothing, then a lot of pain as though my body was being torn apart, and then nothing. I thought I had died.

. I slowly regained consciousness and started feeling cold. When I could open my eyes, little Helen, the ghost child, was standing over me. I realized that she was a ghost, but unlike the ghosts I’d met in the 2040s, I could almost feel her body. I was confused but thrilled. I had never seen a ghost before my time travelling adventure and, if the spell had been successful, clearly I was in a future with ghosts. Magic must have been saved!

I was too physically weak to move around much but most of what I saw looked like TALAC. When I heard a tour guide in the distance, I realized that I was in TALAC and The Administration still existed. I found Ariana who greeted me and asked me about my trip. She remembered meeting me and meeting Nanette, but she could not remember when. This time she wasn’t the only Wizarding portrait and the other normal portraits were able to confirm that Muggles suppressed magic and warned me to hide. I dreaded and still dread knowing what changes my interference caused.

Once the depressing reality sunk in, I lost all hope. I lay down behind the kiosk, prepared to die right there. And then you came.

~~~

As Fawkes neared the end of his tale, he rehydrated curry dinners for himself and his host.

“Well, that’s my story,” he concluded as he accepted a glass of wine from Snape.

Severus nodded and accepted the plate. The rehydrated food was sufficiently palatable and a welcome excuse not to talk. After dinner he prepared tea in silence, still absorbing all the information he had just heard. Offering a cup to his guest, they moved to his small sitting room. Severus sat in the chair facing his guest and sighed tiredly.

“So basically you remember two versions of history,” he recapped. “In the first, before you went back in time, I died in the Fiendfyre, the Potter ego prevailed and the boy not only refused to listen to reason but also used his celebrity to become Minister for Magic.” Here he stopped to snort. Wizards could be such dunderheads. He wasn’t sure who was worst, an incompetent and delusional imbecile like Fudge or an inexperienced and impetuous boy like Potter.

Sighing, he continued, “Potter, who didn’t realize he was a horcrux, was possessed by the Dark Lord. But Potter has an extraordinary ability to throw off possession and compulsion charms so the Dark Lord’s possession was not complete, turning Potter into Jekyll and Hyde. Draco, who saved my house from Potter’s destruction, finally gives the photograph of Lily to Potter who effectively commits suicide by Muggle. Draco blames himself for wasting time and endangering lives and commits suicide. A Muggle who outsmarted his idiotic wizard brother-in-law and orchestrated the murder of the Golden Trio begins hunting wizards. The magical community, mindless sheep who let a mere boy be their official leader, was only too happy to submit to some other puppet master who oppresses them and kidnaps Muggleborns, thereby provoking Muggles to retaliate. Muggles, also mindless sheep, allow The Administration to be formed in the 22nd century and by the 23rd century, magic is thought eradicated except for an elite few wizarding families in various countries who keep in touch to arrange marriages and retire but otherwise keep below profile.”

Fawkes struggled between his desires to laugh and to dispute Snape’s over simplistic summary of history. Opting to refill their tea cups instead, he replied simply, “Yes.”

“Then, in this version of history you caused, you go back in time and save Draco from killing himself which results in him living almost 30 more years during which time he becomes an Auror and Potter’s partner no less. Together they fight the Dark Lord who is able to return time and time again, growing more powerful and globally popular even as he becomes less sane. Draco has still saved my house but, instead of giving Potter the charmed photograph of Lily as I told him to, he ends up losing it to some Muggle reporter who writes that ridiculous article about me. Potter gives himself up willingly as a sacrifice and is killed, this time by the MLE, therefore ensuring that the Dark Lord will never return once killed. But Draco is still suicidal so you convince him to use the Time Turner. He returns to 1998 and somehow saves me from death by Fiendfyre and instead sends me to the future. You tell no one where he’s gone but they don’t really care because he’s such a depressed and depressing alcoholic.”

“He…they…yes,” Fawkes replied, wanting to defend his ancestors and the results of his actions but unable to find real fault in Snape’s synopsis. From everything he had learned while in the past, it seemed that he had led Draco to live an additional three decades of misery during which time he would lose his parents, his wife and for all intents and purposes, his son. By the time he disappeared with his grandson’s broom, Potter, the only person who still tolerated Draco, had already been assassinated. It gave Fawkes only small comfort to fantasize that his compulsion charm only worked so well because Draco had likely been willing.

“But once the Muggle’s article made knowledge of horcruxes public knowledge,” Snape continued, “wizards and witches the world over began making horcruxes. This led to chaos within the Wizarding world which spilled over to the Muggle world where Muggles, now that they know of horcruxes, conclude that the only way to safeguard their own safety is to annihilate entire Wizarding communities using their military technology. With time, their militaries grow into The Administration which not only seeks to eradicate magic but also controls Muggles. This time the genocide takes two centuries longer and is evidently less successful as there are more hidden magical communities today than before you changed history. At least in this country.”

Fawkes gasped as he listened to the second history. Stuck as he was in the 2040s, he hadn’t known how the changes he had caused led to a future where The Administration still existed. He shuddered at the thought of multiple split souls. After the Prattler article about horcruxes came out, Hermione had predicted just such a future and by the time that he left, the Unspeakables regularly held raids – even of Malfoy Manor – to seize any book with instructions on making horcruxes. He missed ‘Aunt ‘Mione’ and wondered if history recorded what had become of her.

“It is fascinating how much changed and how much stayed the same,” he mused aloud. 

Severus nodded his agreement. “The means by which men pursue their vices may have changed over the millennia, but the vices and consequences of pursuing them, remain the same.”

They sat in silence, Severus continuing to mull over the changing histories, and Fawkes fiddling with his no longer functional comm. 

“Why did it bring me here and now?” Snape’s whisper sounded loud in the silence. “How does a device that can transport someone in increments as small as a minute as it apparently did with Draco, also transport me so many centuries into the future? I wish we knew how far into the past Draco went. I never guessed of his existence before I was transported here, yet he must have been at Hogwarts in 1998 order to save my life.”

He fell silent a moment longer then shared his thoughts aloud once more. “How did it end up transporting you to the right time and the right place? Malfoy Manor is…was not in London. Why didn’t it transport you to somewhere in London? What _is_ that device?”

Fawkes had no answer but he had wondered the same when Hermione had shown him etchings of other Time Turners and told him about her own experiences with the devices.

“Do you still have it?” he asked Snape.

“Yes. I keep it in a protected box under a stasis spell to ensure it does not accidentally transport anyone or itself.” 

Fawkes nodded in response and settled back into contemplative silence.

“Severus,” Fawkes began timidly, cautioned by tales of Snape’s vicious tongue that he had heard from the man’s contemporaries, “was I wrong for changing the past? I felt so sure that I had to do it before and even now I sometimes think that I was born to do it…and yet you are here and The Administration is still here and…”

“In the words of Oscar Wilde,” Snape replied, “the one duty we owe to history is to rewrite it.”

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best, I hope that wasn't too wordy or confusing!


End file.
